The Adventure of Hecate House
by Eyebrows2
Summary: **FINALLY COMPLETE!** As Sherlock Holmes investigates an enigmatic doctor who makes extraordinary claims, he uncovers a fiendish web of dark crime. Can he & Watson unravel it before danger overtakes them? And what role does ex-client Violet Hunter play?
1. Chapter 1: The letter

The missive delivered by post on the morning of the 23nd August was curt, and to the point, even by my own standards:

"Wish consultation on most delicate issue. Will call Aug 23 at 0900. M.L.E. Rangaford."

The letter was handwritten, on thick, high quality paper bearing the watermark of an exclusive stationers in Mayfair. The pen used was in excellent repair, and the writers' own, judging by the uniformity of the thickness of ink. The ink itself had a peculiar violet tint, which is only available in three stationers of which I am aware; one in Mayfair, the others somewhat remote.

The handwriting was feminine, rounded and well-formed, suggestive of a firm, if inflexible character, but there was a suggestion of extreme haste in its composition - the dots to the i's and crosses to the t's taken with the faint impression where the paper had be folded over upon itself before it was fully dried suggested this. That my correspondent was not in habitual haste could be implied by the fussy little tail on the final 'd' – not the writing of a slapdash personality.

I turned my attention to the envelope. My direction was in the same hand, written with the same apparent haste. It had been crumpled and smudged, as if stuffed into a pocket with the ink still damp. The postmark was Harley Street, not nearby to the stationers, but a district one could contrive a reasonable excuse to visit.

So, my client was a young woman of high station with a strong character, whose brevity was quite likely the result of severe apprehension and time pressure, rather than a natural rudeness. It was likely the source of her anxiety was based in her home, as her stationary was presumably purchased locally and yet she concealed her missive about her person and posted it in an area distant from her house. I could also assume she was of a military family, in view of her use of the 24 hour clock.

Rangaford. The name was familiar to me. I had had a most unpleasant schoolmaster of that name; my encounters with that gentleman were still seared onto my memory and posterior. I had also read the name in the last few days, and it only took me a moment to place the memory. I gathered up _The Times_ from the 21st of August and located the article I sought:

"_Mysterious disappearance from Peer's Residence:_

"_Concern has been raised regarding the whereabouts of Mrs Emily Rangaford, 22, wife of Colonel George Rangaford of the 11__th__ –shires, and daughter in law to General Sir Wilberforce Rangaford, well known for his part in the Crimean conflict. Mrs Rangaford was last seen departing Sir Wilberforce's house in Mayfair, where she and her husband are currently residing, at 9 o'clock in the morning on the 19__th__ of this month. She was carrying only a large reticule, and her maidservant later described her conduct as 'agitated'. When she had failed to return to keep a luncheon appointment with a friend that afternoon, the family became alarmed, and a search was raised by members of the household. There was still no sign of the missing woman by night time, and the police were informed. There has been no sighting of her at any railway stations, and the hospitals have no patient meeting her description. _

_"We understand Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, one of our finest and brightest detectives, has been assigned to search for the missing young woman, and we have confidence in his ability to bring the affair to a successful conclusion. In the meantime, the public are appealed to for their assistance in this matter. Mrs Rangaford is a slim and fair young woman, 5'1" in height and of delicate appearance. She was last seen wearing a dove gray walking dress with lilac figure-work on the bodice and lapels with a sable-trimmed pelisse. Any person who has information regarding Mrs Rangaford should contact the authorities. A reward of £500 is offered to any person whose information may lead to discovering her whereabouts."_

I folded the paper and waited with piqued interest for my visitor. I felt fairly certain my client was coming in connection with this young woman's disappearance, which suggested the affair would not be without its points of interest. I was removing the toast crumbs from my person when the doorbell rang. It was three minutes to nine; my client set store my punctuality evidently. There was a series of thumps from Watson's room above, and the good doctor arrived in the room, somewhat dishevelled, finishing the arrangement of his necktie and with one shoelace still untied, just as Mrs Hudson announced our client. Obviously a late night spent with a patient had left my companion willing to sacrifice breakfast, but not the opportunity of adventure beckoning which our doorbell had so often heralded.

The young woman Mrs Hudson ushered in was of just such a type as to appeal to my friends' chivalry. She was of above medium height, and her figure particularly fine. She had a determined set to her chin which bordered on the obstinate, a nose which tended towards the patrician, and a large pair of penetrating blue eyes, framed by disconcertingly large lashes. Dark, straight eyebrows completed the impression begun by my analysis of her handwriting of a resourceful and resolute woman.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes, I believe?"

"I am that gentleman. I surmise that you are Miss Rangaford, and that you wish to speak to me regarding your missing sister-in-law, and your fears that a member of your household may be implicated. I trust your route to avoid pursuit did not incommode you excessively, and that it was successful in its intention?"

Miss Rangaford's eyebrows shot up for a moment, then knitted together. Her eyes, straining and anxious on her admission to the room, crinkled with appreciative amusement for a moment.

"I presume you must have deduced me! I must be most impressed if you can work with so little material as a disgracefully curt letter – please excuse me for that – and my appearance today. I expect my liberal coating of mud may have informed you to some extent."

I was impressed by her perspicacity, and favoured her with a brief explanation

"Your note suggested an anxiety of being overlooked rather than a natural terseness, and betrayed your familial military connections, by which I anticipated you were connected to the most interesting story in the papers. You have indeed a liberal coating of mud, in veritable technicolour, upon your boots, suggesting you have progressed on foot for some distance. However, the sleeves of your coat suggests two hansom cab journeys, one shared and one alone. Why else should a young lady wealthy enough to be clutching a particularly handsome tip for my potential servant feel the need to walk long distances and take two hansom journeys if not to avoid the possibility of being followed?"

"Magnificent in its simplicity Mr Holmes, although I suspect it is not so simple in its application as it at first appears. I assume you are Dr Watson, sir? I have read your stories, and would appreciate it greatly if you also were willing to listen to my story. A medical man may be of great use. I trust you are both absolutely discreet?"

"You may rely on my discretion in all things, Madam, and I would be delighted to be of service to you" answered my companion gallantly. Watson's natural effervescence with the fair sex had been in sad abeyance in the two years since poor Mary Watson had died bearing their daughter, but it was returning gradually, and this specimen was just such as may be expected to draw him out. Miss Rangaford began her story, and I listened in my habitual attitude for when I am keen to absorb all detail. She was perhaps a little disconcerted by my apparent inattentiveness, but when Watson nodded encouragingly she commenced her tale, addressing herself largely to the doctor, initially providing me with peripheral amusement as I watched the obvious attraction between the other two persons in my room. However, as Miss Rangaford's story unfolded, I found myself sufficiently enthralled that all other considerations were forgotten. There was villainy here, complex, subtle villainy. There was no mistaking it, and I felt that part intellectual, part animal thrill that comes from untangling the creeping tendrils of the true criminal artist.


	2. Chapter 2: The sweet young creature

The Adventure of Hecate House

Chapter 2: The sweet young creature

_Please read and review! I would appreciate all feedback as good for the soul._

"My name is Meredith Rangaford, and, as you have surmised, I am the daughter of General Sir Wilberforce Rangaford and sister to Colonel George Rangaford. You have read in the papers of the disappearance of my dear sister in law Emily. I would have sought your advice sooner, but I feel hedged around and am in the sorry position of having to mislead my father.

"Emily is married to my younger brother George. They are a most devoted couple, and they were married when Emily was just eighteen. For the most part, it has been a happy union. Emily is a particularly sweet and biddable creature, which suits my brother very well, as he does have a tendency to be autocratic. Their happiness has been marred by only two flaws.

"Firstly, my brother sometimes has most unrealistic expectations of the poor child, who really is rather a simple little soul. She has only to err in a foolish manner, which I am afraid she frequently does, being rather a pea-goose, and he is appalling stern, chastising and bombasting her for mistakes she cannot help. Only last month, he read her a rollicking lecture for neglecting to take into account the considerable expense of a new walking dress and bonnet. I could not abide to be dressed down in such a fashion, but Emily meekly accepts his strictures, and indeed appears to view him as a father figure. She wept until her whole face was swollen and red, and felt terribly decadent, although indeed, she is a wealthy woman in her own right, and can easily afford the odd extravagance. They made it up soon, her begging his pardon, and him forgiving her."

Here my client's upper lip curled slightly, and I smiled to myself in amusement as I appreciated the truth in her words that she would not relish being so dictated to. "The other sadness which has afflicted her marriage is her childlessness. It has been three years and four months since they married, and no heir to grace our family tree has been forthcoming. It really is quite affecting to see how she feels it. I have spoken to her on the matter before, but she colours up, and will speak of it only in the most vague terms. I feel if they were to relax, and to share their marriage bed more frequently, they would do better, but my brother feels it is more seemly to have separate chambers." She broke off for a moment to glare rather defiantly at me; "I daresay you think no unmarried young lady should know of such things, but I am afraid I have little patience with the extolling of ignorance as a virtue. Emily certainly is most ignorant in these particulars, I believe. I think she may still believe in storks and cabbage patches."

I glanced towards Watson, whose moustache was twitching, mirroring my own amusement. I was relieved to see his prudish side was in abeyance today. "Myself," continued our arresting client "I have been brought up largely in the countryside, and it is no astonishing feat to understand first-hand how the animals propagate. Townsfolk can be so squeamish. However, I digress, and I can see this stirs your impatience Mr. Holmes. I will get to the point of my story.

"Emily has recently been in contact with a gentleman called Dr Raddison. Ah, I see the name is not unfamiliar to you, Dr Watson." I turned in surprise to my colleague, who had indeed given a start of recognition.

"Yes, I have heard the name, but only in the broadest of terms. I understand he has been gaining a name for himself in rather exclusive circles as assisting married couples with...well, those who have difficulties with propagation, as you yourself termed it earlier, Miss Rangaford. I am afraid none of my clients would be in a position to afford his services, but my friend Johnstone has a more elevated clientele, and he has mentioned Raddison to me."

"You appear dubious, Dr Watson"

"Well, yes. Johnstone is a good sort of fellow, and he feels this Raddison may be something of a charlatan. There is no doubt women in your sister in law's position are vulnerable. They have a good deal of pressure brought to bear on them to bring forth issue, and a good deal of stigma may be cast upon them if they are unable to oblige. And again, as you yourself stated, it is considered virtuous for women to know next to nothing of the mechanics of this situation – a circumstance I personally consider abhorrent. It always seems to reflect worst on the female counterpart in a marriage as well, which is monstrously unjust, but sadly true."

My good friend was working himself up into one of his moods of slightly pompous outrage to which his well-meaning nature was predisposed. I felt it best to curtail this, and turn the conversation back to the case in hand. He detected my interference, and a slightly rueful, sheepish smile fleetingly crossed his face.

"Please continue with your most interesting account, Miss Rangaford."

"Of course, Mr Holmes. Dr Watson is correct in stating that Raddison is both exclusive, and involved with these delicate matters. He is the soul of discretion, as I understand it. His card is sent round to all of the more upmarket medical practitioners, and you may find delicately worded advertisements in the classified sections of the quality newspapers – I have brought you a selection I have cut out, Mr Holmes – but I understand most of his publicity is via word of mouth. Apparently he achieves astonishing success in the treatment of childless couples – a circumstance which makes me suspicious, because I do not believe one man so capable of altering the course of nature. Emily confided in me that she has heard from three separate people that they owe the existence of their bouncing babies to Dr Raddison. It took her three months to screw up the courage to consult him, but she was most favourably impressed by him.

"He operates from Hecate House, a clinic situated in the countryside around Dorset. It is apparently a beautiful manor house set in extensive grounds whose parkland stretches down to the coast – a most secluded and romantic getaway. She was too diffident to share many details with me of what she underwent there, but I understand Dr Raddison runs a 'programme' whereby his clients go through a stepwise assessment of their difficulties. It starts by a most thorough question and answer session, run separately for each partner. Emily said she felt as if she was asked to place her soul on display, so intimate and exhaustive were the questions. It is doubtful she would have braved answering were it not for the soothing demeanour of Dr Raddison himself. He seems to have placed her totally at her ease, and cajoled and flattered her until she felt ready to cooperate entirely. Some of the questions were about her own personality, some about her...habits in this area, and some I think to test her knowledge. She was most reticent about discussing this session, and I think would have confided in no-one but myself – we have long been bosom-bows, and she looks up to me and often asks my advice. However, on the subject of Dr Raddison, she was far less confiding than usual – apparently he recommends this diffidence as being better for conception.

"The second stage of the programme is tailored to the individual couples. In Emily and George's case, this was residential. They were invited to stay at Hecate House, in a most luxurious suite of apartments. I believe their sojourns were related to the stages of Emily's monthly cycle, as they visited twice, twenty-eight days apart. Emily blushed furiously and disclaimed when I tried to discuss what went on, by which I believe I can guess what it was.

"In the meantime, my father has been introduced to Dr Raddison at his club. He has been very favourably impressed, and I think flattered, by the attention bestowed on him. One should not criticise one's parents, but I must state that my father's most over-riding fault is vanity, and Dr. Raddison's company is highly sought out. He has invited Dr Raddison to pay us a visit, and was accepted last week. I think poor Emily was very embarrassed by his presence in our house after her personal involvement, but my father is sufficiently insensitive to not consider this important."

Here Miss Rangaford broke off her story, and chewed her lip, her brow furrowed, apparently lost in her own thoughts for a moment, an expression of indecisiveness, which I expect was fairly alien to her, crossing her countenance. I allowed her an interval, then softly cleared my throat. She started, then visibly appeared to come to a decision and continued briskly with her narrative.

"Forgive me, gentlemen. I fear I am about to stray into the realms of feminine intuition, which is rather repugnant to me, as I prefer to deal in hard fact. However, so strong is my response to Dr Raddison's presence I cannot discount it – I am generally held to be a good judge of character. Dr Raddison is a smiling, open faced gentleman with a caressing countenance and an appealing sense of humour. And yet..." and for a moment, a wide-eyed look of fear crossed her strong features "and yet he appals me. He frightens me. I feel a creeping, repulsed sensation crawling up my spine, as if I beheld a venomous cobra."


	3. Chapter 3: Disappearance and drowning

_Thank you to those kind people who have left feedback – my first ever! It has given me quite a glow; hope you like the next instalment._

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Chapter 3: The disappearance and the drowning

I studied Miss Rangaford more closely. I was fairly certain she did not scare easily, and yet she bore clear signs of intimidation. The case called for some gentleness, evidently.

"My dear lady, allow me to reassure you that I do not discount feminine intuition. They say the brain controls the brain, and sometimes we see what we cannot immediately rationalise. This man has some hold over you; perhaps simply continue your narrative and the objective substrate of your fears will distil from it"

"I thank you. I have quite recovered myself.

"Dr Raddison arrived with the expectation that he would stay a sennight, bringing with him his wife, a quiet, wispy little woman, who seems to watch everybody around her as if she were trying to draw their character. We passed the first few days quietly and pleasantly enough, occupied with journals, periodicals and the post over breakfast (Dr Raddison receives a copious amount of mail, which he has troubled to have forwarded), followed by a stroll about town or a drive in the park in the mornings, and elevated conversation over luncheon or dinner, with cards of an evening (Mrs Raddison does not play, but sits with her endless stitching, and watches, watches. Usually I would have relished a break from the monotony of our circle, and particularly being included as a sentient member in the conversation! I cannot deny Dr Raddison is a charming and fascinating conversationalist, and he often singled me out for attention. He was a little too fawning and ready to defer to my opinion for my liking – too practised in the art at setting women at their ease and extracting their life's story. He was too considerate in his treatment of Emily too. He would not intrude himself upon her, and yet he was ever ready to encourage or praise her part in the conversation over dinner, or help her down from the carriage. I am convinced in was to him we owed the sudden change in Emily.

"She received a letter over breakfast one morning – the 17th, I believe it was. She immediately looked puzzled, and flushed, and glanced over to where Dr Raddison was sitting imperturbably. He met her eye as if unconsciously, and a smile of reassurance crossed his features. He then returned to his paper, although she continued to glance at him. She secreted the letter in her reticule, and left the room. She seemed a little restless that entire day, but not enough to make me truly concerned. The next day, an excursion had been planned – we would ride to Greenwich to see the _camera obscura_ and stand with a foot in either hemisphere, then take an _al fresco_ luncheon in the park before returning homewards. I was surprised when Emily declined to go, as she had been looking forward to it. However, she pleaded a headache and excused herself. Dr Raddison also excused himself, on the strength of having some urgent correspondence to answer. The rest of us set out on our day trip. We returned at around three thirty that afternoon. I found Emily in a distracted state. She was attempting to conceal it, but she was pale and distraught, and kept wringing her hands, which were trembling pitiably. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She was unable to compose herself at dinner, so that even my father noticed. Dr Raddison was all that was tactful, and did not mention her peculiar behaviour, but I noticed she seemed very aware of him. She would involuntarily look at him across the room, and more than once, I saw her repress a shudder. She retired to bed at an early hour." Here I interrupted;

"Was Dr Raddison alone at any point during the evening?"

"No, he was in the room with myself, his wife, my father and George, and he retired up to bed at a similar time."

"That seems significant. Please continue. Your account is admirably detailed – you are clearly a very observant woman."

"Thank you. I like to believe I do not go through life with my eyes shut. Well, I was at the point where we had retired to bed. The next morning, I believe Emily and Dr Raddison breakfasted together. The doctor was an early riser, habitually dining at seven, then lingering with his tea over his correspondence or paper for a long time. Emily joined him."

"She was not accustomed to breakfast so early?"

"She was not. Emily usually struggles to rise before nine."

"Were Dr Raddison's early rising habits known to your household?"

"They were. He had made quite a point of it, with the slightly sanctimonious air that the punctuality-prone often allow themselves. But Emily had taken no notice until now. I came down to breakfast at my usual hour of eight, to find Emily had already left the table whilst Dr Raddison was still reading his paper."

"Were the two of you alone?"

"Yes, we were. Mrs Raddison was in bed claiming a headache. George and my father are predictable in their habits, arriving at table at quarter-past-eight and leaving to tend to their duties at quarter-to-nine. "

"Ah. So the male contingent of the household had left before Emily disappeared?"

"Yes. Apart from Dr Raddison, of course. I was in my chamber, and was not aware Emily had left before my maid, Agatha, came to me.

" 'Pardon me, Miss,' said she, 'but does something ail Mrs Rangaford?'

" 'She seemed a little out of sorts yesterday. Why do you ask, Agatha?' I replied, with a creeping feeling already stealing over me – Agatha has been looking after Emily as well as myself since they have been staying with us, as she is as perceptive a creature as she is kind.

" 'Well, Miss, she left the house awful sudden this morning. She said nothing about going out to me, and James said she looked like she'd seen a ghost when she walked out the door. She'd seemed properly agitated all day yesterday too, like she was about to burst into tears at any minute.'

"You can imagine how concerned I was to hear this. However, I reassured Agatha initially, and myself, and tried to settle to do my accounts."

"You do your own accounts for the household?"

"Yes, my father has no head for figures, and quite depends upon me."

"Does your brother expect a similar service from his wife?"

"Oh no! George is far too close to allow anybody else to run his affairs! However, it is a part of his personality that he likes to educate Emily, and makes the pretence of making her do it all. He checks over every last farthing when she is done though, and upbraids her for the smallest error."

"I see. I apologise for the interruption, please proceed."

"Well, as I said, I tried to occupy myself, but I was concerned. It was so unlike Emily to leave so suddenly, without giving word of where she was going. And when I received a note from Rebecca, Emily's oldest friend, asking whether she was well, and why she had failed to keep her luncheon appointment, I was seriously worried. We set enquiries afoot, with all of Emily's particular cronies, but nobody had seen her, nor was she to be seen at any of her favourite haunts. By that evening, despite my family's abhorrence of publicity, we were forced to call in the police. The details are in the newspaper – no sign of her at any of the principle stations or hospitals. What isn't in the newspapers is what we found when we searched her things. Jewellery has disappeared from her jewellery box – but noticeably only that which she brought with her as her own before her marriage."

"Valuable jewellery?"

"Yes, moderately. A diamond pendent with matching earrings. A debutante's pearl necklace. A pretty sapphire broach shaped as a butterfly, and another shaped as a cluster of forget-me-knots. A gold locket – but she wore that often, it had miniatures of herself and George in it. Probably worth about seven hundred pounds in total. She was wearing her dove-gray dress, and her sable pelisse was also missing."

"Not a propitious colour combination for a young woman of fashion."

"No, not at all. Emily would never usually commit such a sartorial sin – she has a very good eye for colour; it is instinctive to her. For me, this is one of the greatest suggestions of mental turmoil of all – she must have blindly grabbed whatever came to hand without really seeing."

"And you have had no word from Emily since?"

"Nothing. George is out of his mind with worry. Despite his pompous manner, he is head over heels for Emily – he calls her his little darling. He looks like a man lost."

"What has been Dr Raddison's conduct during this crisis?"

"He was all sympathy initially, and seems to have made himself indispensable to my father since by his ingratiating support. He has insinuated himself into my father's graces, like an oily serpent, until my father has confided all progress in the investigation to him, which is most at variance with his usual abhorrence of publicity. And yet, I am sure I read irritation in the doctor's features when he thinks he is unobserved. He irons his features quickly enough when he feels my gaze upon them. My mistrust of him has also sparked off other memories, gentlemen.

"My intimate childhood friend was a lady named Veronica Bellingham. She was one of the most wholesome people it has ever been my privilege to meet. She was a keen rower; her house was on the grounds of a large lake, and she had a dainty little craft it was her pleasure to tool about, summer or winter. She married a man who idolised her, and she him. He wasn't what I'd have called her type – rather like Angel from Tess of the D'Urbervilles, if you have read it – ah, I see you have, Dr Watson. An air-dreamer and perfectionist; to him Ronnie was the embodiment of all worldly ideals rather than a harum-scarum breath of fresh air. Bless her, she was likely to empty all her pockets to a sick beggar when in town, then hitch a lift home on a farm cart and burst into church with her hat askew and straw in her hair. She and William married three years ago, and after a year, no children. I doubt if lack of enthusiasm was the problem there. She was ever decisive, and determined to see Dr Raddison 'to set our minds at rest, and not let this drag on.' Four months later, she was dead - drowned. Her little craft had sunk with her upon the lake, its bottom holed by a loose plank. They said she must have capsized, and been unable to swim to shore. But, Mr Holmes, I could never believe that. She was an excellent swimmer, and yet she was found a few yards only from the boat. She was most meticulous when taking the boat out – she would have noticed any faults immediately. I wondered a great deal at the time. You see, she also had changed before this event. I saw her two days before, and there was a brittleness to her usual gaiety – she looked pale and worn, like she had not slept. I begged her to tell me her troubles, and she just tried to laugh it off 'Oh, don't worry, Merry! I'll admit I have a few bothersome things aggravating me at the moment, but I'll soon have shaken them off, you'll see.' She then had a very curious look in her eyes – far away, but somehow glittering, and angry. I shiver now to think about it. It bode ill for somebody."


	4. Chapter 4: The Miracle Worker

The Adventure of Hecate House

Chapter 4: The Miracle Worker

Miss Rangaford then turned and looked at me, and her own eyes could have given a lesson in glittering dangerously themselves.

"I mistrust coincidence, Mr Holmes. I accept that sometimes it is inevitable, but that is no reason to be complacent. I have asked our dear old family doctor, Dr Henley Thomas, his opinion. He, like you, Dr Watson, has his misgivings about Dr Raddison. 'I am an old man, Miss Meredith', said he 'and I have yet to meet a miracle worker who is not a scoundrel or charlatan. Miracles are the province of our Good Lord, the rest of us must make do with the honest work of our own endeavours.'

"He had heard many rumours. Four ladies of his practice, all of whom were distraught by their childlessness, he knew to have seen Dr Raddison and born children in the meantime. The first two, he described as 'sweet skitterbrains', and implied, with much gruff throat clearing and rearranging of his neck gear that neither they nor their husbands had had the least idea of how the birds and the bees fly, as it were. The third was rather more impressive. The poor lady had been childless for seven years, and her husband, 'a dissolute oaf', had blamed her for it, although I think Doc Henley was rather inclined to think the blame may lie in another direction – rather like Henry VIII, if I understood him aright. The forth, obviously caused him the most consternation of all. She had been a bright, merry creature, but since her treatment by Dr Raddison, has become a shadow of her former self, despite her safe delivery of beautiful twins. She is pale and nervous, as thin as a wraith, when she was plump and hearty a year or two before. Doc Henley has discussed the matter with his colleagues, and they have all heard of Dr Raddison. One or two of them (he says 'the more bone-headed of the contingent') swear by him. Others, like he, are uneasy. You see, he seems to enjoy almost complete success. And Doc Henley says 'I trust 100% success no more than miracles in medicine. Nature is not so obliging as to change according to the whims of one man'.

"I now felt more certain in my misgivings, and went to see my father again." The anger was suddenly writ large in every line of Miss Rangaford's face, not just her eyes. "He ordered me not to be so foolish. He flew into a rage, actually, and cursed 'hysterical females'. I read into some of his rage that he had been a little indiscreet in taking Dr Raddison further into his confidence than propriety should have allowed, and some of his anger which should have been directed upon himself was rebounding upon me. Dr Raddison has all his confidence. He is following all aspects of the effort to find my poor sister in law. He knows about the disappearance of her jewellery. I implored my father not to trust him so entirely, I expounded all the arguments I could think of, but he was immovable. My father can be as obstinate as a mule, and has a deep streak which leads him to abhor taking on difficult responsibilities – a strange trait in a soldier; I believe he was decisive enough on the battlefield. In this matter though, it is clear that he has found somebody who will organise the effort of finding his daughter in law for him. He does not seem to see the strangeness of this. Perhaps also he does not want to admit to himself his foolishness in trusting a stranger where usually he is as close as paint. In the end, it was all I could do to convince him not to mention my suspicions to Dr Raddison – and then, it was only by dint of emphasising how deeply the doctor may take offence – I believe he was worried he may lose his convenient crutch, or that there may be talk.

"I was at my wits' end, and deeply worried about Emily. I dread what may happen if Raddison catches up with her before we do. I then thought of you, and determined to lay the whole matter before you. It was quite a task to send you a letter without being observed, as Raddison now seems to have latched his loathsome presence onto me whenever he is not closeted with my father. At all other times I am joined by his pale little wife, still sewing and watching me with her pale watery eyes.

"I used a second appointment with Doc Henley as my excuse to get out of the house and post my letter – I did not want to send Agatha or James, as they have both been with me since I was a child. They would have remarked it was not my usual habit to use anything other than the mail bag, and may have suspected me of clandestine habits, especially had they seen the address – they may even have felt it their duty to speak to my father. I then claimed to be on a shopping excursion to distract myself from our trials and took a most circuitous route to ensure I wasn't followed. Dr Raddison has been watching me so closely, I would not put it past him to set a trail on me in case it leads him to Emily – you see the state of my mind, Mr Holmes. I no longer know what is the reaction of an overwrought female and what is not. I do not want that man knowing I suspect him though. Just the thought of those cold eyes turning thoughtfully on me, as if I were an irritation to be expunged, turns my heart to water. Bah! I have become fanciful. But I am in deadly earnest, Mr Holmes. There is something deadly, something poisonous about Dr Raddison. He smiles and smiles, and is a villain. Oh, why can only I see it?" she cried, with a burst of frustration which she had been at pains to conceal hitherto.

She buried her face in her hands, and whilst Watson went to her to sooth her, I absorbed her ominous narrative, reflecting that if her courage in coming to see me had not been tempered by an unprecedentedly hard head, she would quite possibly be in as much jeopardy as I suspected was the unfortunate Emily.


	5. Chapter 5: The Reptile and the Cur

The Adventure of Hecate House

Chapter 5: The Reptile and the Cur

As I might have expected of a young lady of her calibre, Miss Rangaford recovered from her brief loss of control quickly. I suspect the ministrations of Watson were not unrelated – his natural modesty does not allow him to dwell upon the matter in his own narratives, but he does have a remarkable effect upon women, reducing the most hard-nosed creatures into a rather treacly pliability. Apparently, he even "smells nice", although I will not repeat the source of these words. In any case, our client dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief and stiffened her resolve and her spine, blushing slightly. She looked me directly in the eye.

"Will you accept my case, Mr Holmes? Or do you consider my suspicions the product of an over-active imagination?"

"Miss Rangaford, of all the clients who have passed through this rooms I feel you are one of the least likely to become overwrought in a crisis. Your narrative disturbs me greatly. I think you are very right to fear this man. I too share your dislike of coincidences and miracles, and too many of both appear to surround this notable gentleman. I will look into the matter with alacrity, and I must beg you to take care. Do not allow Dr Raddison to suspect you are joined in battle against him.

You have also provided yourself with shopping?"

"No, I have not. I came here directly, albeit by an indirect route."

"You should return via a good milliner, haberdashers or dressmakers in that case. Provide yourself with an acceptable alibi."

"Of course, Mr Holmes, if you think it sensible."

"I think it is sensible to take every precaution to prevent Dr Raddison from becoming aware of your mistrust of him."

"Very well. You genuinely believe there is reason for concern?"

"I believe these are deep waters, my dear Miss Rangaford. Should you have any further information to impart, write it in a note, and take a stroll about your street. Conceal the message in your left glove, and you will find a disreputable young street urchin very ready to relieve you of it. I only suggest you do not keep any more loose items of value about your person. My allies are staunch, but may sway in what they perceive as minor matters in the face of temptation. I shall also direct unstinting efforts to the discovery of your unfortunate sister-in-law."

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. I feel easier in my mind, despite the confirmation that danger truly does lurk in close proximity – the perversity of women, you may say."

"I am gratified my services relieve you of some of your fears. Watson, will you call Miss Rangaford a cab, if you please? Adieu for now, my dear lady, and be assured, you are not alone in these worrying times."

"Goodbye. A thousand thank-yous, Mr Holmes."

Watson bowed Miss Rangaford through the door. Whilst he was indulging his chivalrous instincts, I bolted for my bedroom, to hastily don a simple disguise, and in the shape of a sandy-haired clergyman, I exited our rooms by one of the less conspicuous routes. I was thus able to observe Miss Rangaford being handed into a growler, once Watson had brushed down the seat with his abused handkerchief, somewhat to the indignation of the cabbie. I flagged down a cab of my own, driven by a dreamy-eyed young man, who did not appear to possess the full complement of shrewdness that usually characterise his profession, with a yellow-backed novel protruding from his pocket.

"My good man, I have reason to believe that young women, one of my parishioners, is being watched by a lout with designs upon her virtue. Please keep her cab in view, until she reaches her home. You will be rewarded by a guinea if you are not noticed."

My new ally seemed to find nothing odd in the spectacle of a clergyman acting as a bodyguard, and his eyes lit up with a martial triumph at the heroic contribution he was making to protecting a potential damsel in distress. He even made no demur at idling whilst Miss Rangaford stopped at a rather expensive jewellers as well as a shockingly expensive milliner (obviously taking advantage of my advice to indulge herself), and performed his duties with a set to his chin which boded ill for any villain who dared accost our fair charge. I was free to watch the street for signs that she was followed. To my inexpressible relief, there was no tail. She reached her home without incident, and I reassured her devoted chevalier that the lout in question would be dealt with, hinting at dark comeuppances. I exacted a promise of absolute secrecy "in the lady's fair name" from him, and, bidding him farewell, I made a brief reconnaissance of the street and surroundings.

It was a broad, leafy street, with tall stately houses well set back from the road. Everything in the self-assured orderliness spoke of money and influence. It was just the sort of location a villain on the make would choose to be resident. Whatever Dr Raddison's fell purpose in visiting the house (and I harboured my suspicions), it would be to his advantage to continue to be seen there.

I settled myself on a wooden bench facing the front of Miss Rangafords' house, and fished out my pipe, to smoke a thoughtful bowlful in contemplation of the players in this drama. As I stared, apparently glassy-eyed into space, I noticed a figure slouch across the street, his attitude informing me he was desirous of _not_ being noticed. He then looked right at me, seeming to glower, and then to dither. I allowed myself a beatific smile in his direction, which he did not return; instead he continued his dithering, and then seemed to make a decision and headed for the next unoccupied bench along the street. He seated himself and opened a newspaper.

I watched in interest, and then noticed a woman looking from one of the broad front windows of the house. Even through the glass, _pale_ was the word which sprung to mind on observing this figure; pale hair, pale complexion, somehow more of a shade than a woman. This then must be Mrs Raddison. She saw me seated in my place, then craned her neck and looked down the street. She stiffened at the sight of my dithering friend sitting behind his newspaper, then withdrew from the window.

Within five minutes, the front door opened, and a tall, powerfully built gentleman descended the front steps, and crossed the street to sit upon the same bench as the ditherer. I could not hear their conversation, conducted as it was in muted tones, but I heard the unmistakable buzz of suppressed anger from the large man not long into their exchange.

Ditherer then slunk away, looking for all the world like a chastised cur, and the large man turned to walk back to the house, according me a clear view of his features. He had a broad, strong jawed face, now tending towards heaviness about the jowls, unfortunately emphasised by his prominent side whiskers, yet he moved with the assurance of the natural athlete. With his modest yet quietly expensive clothing, he appeared the very picture of a kindly and well respected doctor. However, as he passed me, I was able to obtain a clear view of his face, and understood suddenly why Miss Rangaford found him so chilling. The eyes were utterly cold and reptilian. The malignance of the man seemed to exude from him in waves which created a crawling sensation even under my hardened skin. Such was my first view of Dr Raddison, and I little realised then how much cause I would have in the future to recall it. I finished my pipe with the scent of the chase seeming to permeate the very wisps of tobacco as they drifted skywards, then headed for home, to further brood on events.

I found Watson doing his best to wear a hole in our Persian rug on my return. He looked up eagerly, and I prepared to enlighten him as to my movements, and my theories, anticipating him to be as much in the dark as was customary, and savouring the prospect of indulging my taste for the dramatic in revealing my suspicions and explaining my actions, with the accompaniment of admiring, indignant exclamations from my audience.

"Was she followed, Holmes?"

Watson's deductive abilities had been improving of late, a trait I was not certain I wished to encourage. I found the constant facility for surprise with which my friend has been endowed reassuring.

"You guess my movements with admirable accuracy, my dear Watson. I suspect our fair client remained undetected and unmolested, yet I rather think it is thanks to her own ingenuity – I believe she may well have shaken off a most unwelcome companion in her journey today. I am glad I suggested she make some purchases. I feel she may already be under surveillance in her own household, and her suspicions regarding her house guests' actions are themselves suspected." With this, I prepared to expound to Watson what my own vague interpretations of these actions may be, when he spoke first;

"The case sounds a sinister one, Holmes. I mislike the sound of this Raddison. The conception of children is such a sensitive matter – I can conceive of many manners of taking advantage of those poor individuals desperate enough to trust their most private problems to an individual who performs these dubious miracles. Do you anticipate blackmail... and possibly murder... may be amongst this philanthropists' repertoire?"

I glowered at him.

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_Well, the game does seem to be afoot! What will Holmes' and Watson's next move be in investigating the snake like Dr Raddison? Continued in chapter 6..._

_Reviews are very welcome... in fact they are craved..._


	6. Chapter 6: The New Irregulars

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 6: The Trojan Horse and the New Irregulars**

My unreasonable truculence at having my dramatic conclusions pre-empted did not last long in the face of Watson's obvious eagerness to know my thoughts on the matter.

"You surpass yourself, my friend. My surmise is indeed that there are dark deeds afoot, shielded by the natural reticence of those who may be the victims. I did feel a strong sense of repulsion on seeing the man, and I have learned to trust my own instincts – something about the man excites a feeling of the deepest loathing in me. You know my feelings regarding blackmailers. They are the vilest of men, wringing the lifeblood and the souls of those they slowly torture. If Raddison is one of their number, it would explain my reaction to him. Milverton provoked a similar response. We also have the circumstance of the excellent swimmer drowning a mere few feet from her boat, having been one of his clients."

"She could have been ill – collapsed, or fainted."

"She would have done so in the boat, surely, unless she was standing, and why should an accomplished oarswoman stand upright in such a tiny craft?"

"She may have stood for some reason, then overbalanced, hit her head and stunned herself in falling from the boat."

"It would have to be a stern blow, and no signs of injury were found upon her person. However, this is all water and moonshine until I can obtain some definite facts. All we know for certain is that a number of well-to-do couples have entrusted their connubial difficulties to him with unprecedented success, and that one naive young woman has left her home in great distress following an encounter with him."

"What do you intend to make your starting point?"

"I think I should attempt to get to Emily before Raddison does."

"I would be happy to assist you."

"Actually, old boy, I had another plan for you, if you were willing to undergo a rather humiliating experience."

"Name it."

"I should like you to pose as a distraught young husband, whose marriage is not yet bearing fruit. "

"You wish me to seek consultation with Raddison as a patient?"

"Would you be willing to do it?"

"Yes, of course, but won't he expect me to produce my partner in wedded bliss? Even the most wooden headed innocent must realise he needs a man and a woman to make a baby, Holmes. And I do not seem to have..." he looked about him as if searching for his mislaid wife, spreading his arms wide.

"What about Nancy?"

"You don't think she is a little well-known these days? The number of billboards with her name on them seem to be propagating - like Dr Raddison's patients." He was definitely becoming uppish, recently.

"Nancy is well known as a stunning golden haired beauty, with cherry lips and rose-petal cheeks. In her natural state she has an impressive capacity for blending into a crowd and becoming inconspicuous. People are more likely to be struck by a mild resemblance this mousy creature has to the famous Annetta Harrison than they are to suspect she _is_ the famous Annetta Harrison".

Nancy Harrison was a part of the foundations of my career. We had met when I was an indigent youth, earning my bread and funding my fledgling detective agency by acting and pugilism. Our relationship was symbiotic from the beginning. She had put me in contact with her brother, a promoter of prize-fighting, and I had helped to establish his career. He in turn had raised the notoriety of his little sister, and she had exploited and traded on that notoriety to gain herself better roles on the stage. Helped by her considerable talent, her equally considerable feminine attributes, and by a certain relentlessness in pursuing her aims, she had begun the climb from chorus girl to leading lady. I had employed her assistance on many an occasion, mainly for surveillance, when being a young couple helps blending in to a crowd. I had earned the gratitude of some influential people, and patronage in the form of a word in the right ear can be a powerful tool in the theatre, giving Nancy openings she may not otherwise have gained. Despite her ascendency, Nancy remained ebulliently, disreputably, playful, and I also felt certain the sense of justice buried (very) deeply in her soul would lead her to jump at the opportunity of exposing what I suspected Raddison may be doing. If she was not immediately keen, I felt confident I could persuade her. I would never admit as much to Watson – I prefer to encourage him in the belief that I am entirely cold and celibate, to _dis_courage the matchmaking zeal I have observed glinting in his eyes occasionally – but our relationship has not always been entirely professional, and I have often found her at her most compliant when we had been indulging in extremely non-professional activities.

Watson seemed perfectly willing to squire Nancy to an appointment with Dr Raddison.

"But would you not rather go yourself, Holmes? You have frequently disparaged my ability at deception on these occasions."

"I should value your medical opinion as to the doctors' tactics. I am sure you will carry the thing off with aplomb. I should think you had better be clueless...yes...that would make your natural – ah – honesty in these cases which call for a little deception appear to be stemming from embarrassment."

"You means it doesn't matter that my acting is less convincing than the wooden horse of Troy on this occasion."

"Precisely. The wooden horse worked, did it not?"

"I am not sure I like the analogy, but I did introduce it I suppose. Very well, I shall be happy to be your wooden horse. When do you wish me to go?"

"I think we had best establish a convincing identity for you first. If Raddison is a criminal, he is a fool if he accepts new clients without confirming their veracity. I shall speak to Mycroft. He has certain facility in the procurement of false identities. I may ask him to provide more than one expectant couple. I may care to pay Dr Raddison a visit myself."

A telegram to Mycroft was sufficient to explain my wants. One of the advantages of having so disinterested a sibling as Mycroft is that he is unlikely to require further details as to why I wish borrow the identities of two wealthy, young, childless couples, unless he feels it is likely to negatively impact on his comfortable regime. He would simply wave his fat flipper, and dispatch a minion to discover what I needed, if it was not already docketed in his mighty brain.

Emily Rangaford was the next step. Where would a young matron of birth and breathing go? I tried to imagine myself in her shoes. It occurred to me that I should have asked Meredith Rangaford for a list of Emily's talents and abilities – if she was trying to disappear, she would naturally gravitate towards an occupation she had some aptitude for, or to an old protector. I therefore sent a telegraph to Miss Rangaford, requesting an opportunity for further information exchange.

"REQUIRE FURTHER INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR PATTERN STOP MOST UNUSUAL DESIGN STOP PLEASE CONTACT COURIER FOR RECEIPT OF QUERIES STOP S HOLMES COUTURE".

I handed my list of questions to young Roberts, the urchin on guard outside her house. I was in the guise of an elderly valetudinarian, and I sat myself down, wheezing, upon one of the nearby benches to watch proceedings. Meredith Rangaford appeared, walking a small pug dog along the street. The little street arab was playing with a wooden ball, and he ran close to Miss Rangaford in pursuit of it. I was proud of his deft little manoeuvre as he slipped my note up her sleeve in passing – Fagin himself could not have trained the child better. She magnificently refused to acknowledge it, and soon returned the breathless little dog to the house. Not long afterwards, she left the house again, and this time, to my alarm, summoned Roberts to her side.

"You, Boy! Yes, you. I have dropped my broach somewhere upon this path. It is shaped like a peacock – do you know what a peacock is? Half a crown if you can discover it for me." Masterly. The woman was a natural. Roberts, after a brief search, found the missing broach, and bore it to her.

"'Ere it is, Missus! Safe an' sound!"

"Good Boy! You are honest, too. Take half a sovereign for your trouble" she said, presenting Roberts with several times what I was paying him for the day's work. His sharp little face took on an expression of delight, and he gazed worshipfully at Miss Rangaford as she returned to the house. I rose to my feet and withdrew. Soon, Roberts appeared, trotting along behind me.

"Evenin', Guv'ner!" he chirped in my direction. Glancing around to confirm we were not overlooked, I straightened up gratefully.

"Good evening, Roberts. Did the lady leave you a message for me?"

"Nah, she dint, Guv'ner. She jus' paid real gen'rous, like, furran easy job like that.... jus' me li'l joke, Boss. 'Ere's yer message!" He slipped the piece of paper into my hand, then skipped off, whooping, in contemplation of his wealth. I opened and read my missive from Miss Rangaford:

_Emily's accomplishments:_

_1. She is a skillfull seamstress and embroiderer_

_2. She has a pretty singing voice_

_3. She has some skill upon the pianoforte_

_4. She speaks a little French, a little Italian, and a little Spanish_

_5. She is a good nurse. She has looked after several members of the family whilst unwell._

_6. She is a very pretty child, but I am not sure she is very aware of the fact._

_Emily is not deficient, but neither is she clever. I feel she would be quite at a loss on her own in the world. She does have some knowledge of London. She had an old nurse, Mrs Siddons, who lived in Knightsbridge, and her governess was from Notting Hill. Neither of them are there now. I cannot think of any other acquaintances she has outside her usual sphere of influence. _

_We have had several London-born servants with a Cockney accent. Actually, I know Emily was able to impersonate the accent quite convincingly._

_I looked in the library, as you asked – Father's schoolboard map is missing._

_Emily's blind spots:_

_1. She has no head for arithmetic, and is unable to take control of her finances. She would know, however, in answer to your question, that objects can be pawned for money._

_2. She has little turn for housekeeping, and is rather intimidated by the upper servants_

_3. She has no sense of direction. The thought of her lost is very concerning to me, as she can barely find her way from dining room to parlour, and I cannot imagine her loose in London._

_4. She is shy._

I had to smile at the businesslike tone of Miss Rangaford's letter, especially the slight impatience regarding the girl's geographical awareness, but the smile soon faded - it was a grave picture of a child entirely unfit to brave London alone. However, I now had some of the knowledge I required to piece together Emily's character, and imagine her likely actions. Being a shy young girl of gentle upbringing, it was likely that Emily regarded most of London with awe and suspicion, vaguely being aware that vast tracts of it were somewhere between a den of iniquity and a plague garden. She would want to head somewhere that sounded familiar, sounded respectable, but where she was unlikely to be known. Where else would she head for but those parts she had heard her trusted servants speak of? It was fortunate that the servants she was close to numbered so few, and that she had so few other possible connections. This was also knowledge Raddison was not likely to be privy to.

Secondly, she would be anxious of railway stations, knowing they might be used to trace her. I felt it likely she would trust herself best on foot. Knightsbridge was in very easy reach of her house in Mayfair, yet was respectable rather than illustrious. I would begin my campaign there.

I began by browsing the windows of every pawn-brokers I could find. I asked for anything with forget-me-nots, mentioning that they were my fiancés' favourite flower. I would then express my surprise and recognition at each broach, saying I thought they had belonged to an old acquaintance. The brokers and I would then gossip aimiably, and I would extract the information as to the persons who had pledged the items. I would ask when the pledge was due to expire, establishing how long the item had been there. On my third such visit, I struck gold.

"Surely I have seen this broach before! I am sure my old pal Stapleton purchased just such a trinket for his wife – prodigiously stout lady, she was, Sir! Like a pig in a dress, I'm afraid to say."

The ruby-faced broker roared with laughter at my description.

"That's not the pretty little bird who dropped this off last week then, unless the pig in a dress has a swan for a daughter, sir".

"Oh, they had no daughter. Three fine but stout boys, carrying on the porcine tradition. But you say a pretty young lady dropped this in? Ah, a sad world we're coming to, if young ladies are pawning their own trinkets. Was she even accompanied?"

"No, she was not, Sir, and I agree, a shame it seems indeed. Agitated she was too. Her hand was all a-trembling as she staked this broach, and she was as pale as milk."

"She must have been a gentlewomanly young creature to afford a broach like this, even if she did have to pawn it. It's fine stuff, this is."

"It is indeed. She was a fine young lady though. Dressed in a posh silk dress with a wrap which I'd swear was real sable – worth more than half the stuff in here, between you and me."

"Is she due to redeem it soon? I would be interested to purchase it if her pledge expires."

"Fraid not, Sir. She only pledged it earlier this week. Together with as lovely a broach as you ever did see, made of real honest-to-god emeralds, and shaped as a butterfly. Gave her sixty guineas for the two. Between you and me, it'd make a pretty profit if she weren't to come back for it, but I soughta hope she does. She looked a bit lost, see, and I don't like to see a pretty young creature like that hanging around on her own." He scratched his ear, looking troubled as his humanity overcame his instinct to make a profit. I cordially bid him good day, saying I would look in again when the pledge was due to expire. I stepped out into the street, and immediately spotted what I was looking for. A small shoe-shine boy, seated at the corner of the street. I approached him, holding aloft a coin which made his eyes glimmer with greed.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. You may have heard of me".

"Cor, yessir! You're that detective-bloke."

"I am that detective-bloke. What is your name?"

"Thomas, sir".

"Well, Thomas, I am looking for information, and my rates are excellent."

"Wha' sorra information?"

"Regarding a young and pretty young lady, rather too classy for this district, dressing in dove grey silk..."

"...an' orange furs. Yeah, I seed 'er, I seed 'er this week! She wen' inter ol' Silas' pop shop, then she's a-walkin' orf down ver street. Mortal pretty, she was!" He held out an immensely dirty small hand for largesse, and I presented him with the coin, then held up another, larger in value.

"Do you have friends here about, Thomas?"

"A-course, Mister! Lots."

"I would like you to ask your friends to help me locate that lady. I think she may well be in danger, and I wish to rescue her. You and your friends will earn a shilling a day each, a crown to the boy who brings back information of value regarding her movements, and a guinea to the boy that finds her. I will be - " I glanced up and down the street, and spotted a tolerable looking coffee house " - in there until closing time this evening, when I shall relocate to The Red Lion, which looks a relatively respectable tavern. I shall be at Miss Greysons' again tomorrow if she has not been found."

"Yes, Mister! Righ' away, Mister!" The young imp took to his heels, shouting to his disreputable friends, and I repaired to purchase a late lunch. It was before tea-time that they brought me news my target had brought herself a suit of plain but respectable clothes from a good second hand shop in the next street. A hour later, and I was informed that "Davy's sister 'ad 'eard at the dressmakers where she works that a genteel young lady 'ad come 'quiring 'bou' a position, but was turned away acos Mrs Birch wha' owns the shop was worried incase she was a posh kid run away from school and she din' wan' no trouble. Din' trst 'er see, cos she 'ad a Lunnon accent, but no seamster never 'ad 'ands as soft as vat"

My net was closing in, and, by half past nine in the evening, a troup of raggedy boys were towing me towards the front door of a respectable boarding house and claiming their guinea. I was feeling generous, and tipped them enough extra to send them turning cartwheels down the street, and then I turned to the door, and rung the bell. The landlady looked askance at my late entrance, but when I applied my most charming smile, and posed as a family solicitor, I was shown up to meet her latest lodger. I knocked on the inner door at the top of the staircase. It was answered by a pretty, but pale, wan and exhausted looking girl with blood hair and frightened blue eyes.

"Good evening. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I believe you are Mrs Emily Rangaford?"

The blue eyes widened further, then rolled upwards, and I had to catch her as she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

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_Well done to the new Irregulars! What will Emily have to say for herself? And what will Watson and Nancy discover when they encounter Dr Raddison? Find out in chapter 6..._

_Please read and review. It makes that crick in my neck all worthwhile._

_Tweaked this chapter a little, by the way, to prevent Holmes needing to time-travel!_

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	7. Chapter 7: Emily

**The Case of Hecate House**

Chapter 7: Emily

I heartily wished for Watson as I attempted to revive the prostrate Emily, and cursed my flair for the dramatic that had prevented me from warning the poor child I was coming. I closed the door to prevent the landlady prying upon us, and lifted her onto the sofa. There was no brandy in the house, so I attempted to ply her with a little from my hip flask, and chafed her cold hands. Her eyes fluttered open, and looked upon me in confusion. They focussed, then the youthful face crumpled and she burst into passionate sobbing.

Alarmed, I made rather inarticulate soothing noises to her, and patted her awkwardly on the back as she took advantage of a nearby shoulder to cry into, until I judged her able to speak.

"Mrs Rangaford..."

"How did you find me?!" she burst, suddenly wrenching herself free of me, and glaring at me with fierce, tear-drenched eyes. "Are you with _him_? Oh, I won't go back with you, I won't, I won't, I had far rather die!"

"Mrs Rangaford, I am not with anybody. I discovered you with the help of my own initiative, and a collection of rather dirty little street urchins. Nobody is aware of my finding you, and I have no intention in betraying you to anybody if you do not wish it, and no inclination of dragging you anywhere against your wishes."

"Who are you? Why are you here?" she asked rather sullenly, some of her panic subsiding.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes..."

"Oh, I have heard of you! You are the famous detective – I read about _The Scandal in Bohemia_ in the Strand. You look a lot like your pictures, but much younger." Her excitement in meeting a celebrity distracted her from her woes for a moment, but they returned anew as her tears began flowing again and she asked fearfully "My husband did not commission you did he? Or that..that... _fiend_ Dr Raddsion?"

"Neither of those individuals are my clients" I replied gently. "It was your sister in law who approached me. She is very concerned about your disappearance, and at something of a loss to account for it, although she suspects Dr Raddison in being implicated. She has construed a profound mistrust of him, which I gather from your reaction is justified."

"He is a monster. Dear Meredith. She is so perceptive. But...then...she does not know of my shame? Is it possible my husband does not know yet?"

"I know of no shame, and indeed, I cannot conceive what there can be for you to be so ashamed of. I believe your husband is deeply anxious for your wellbeing, nothing more, from Miss Rangaford's narrative."

Emily buried her face in her hands. She was trembling with some strong emotion. She whispered through her fingers "I have every reason in the world to be ashamed, terribly deeply, ruined! But I did not know, how could I know, I swear I _Did Not Know!_" Her voice rose hysterically at her last, desperate words, and I found myself taking her hands and trying to calm her again.

"I believe you" I told her, though indeed I did not know what there was to believe. "Will you not tell me of your troubles? I am no friend of Dr Raddison's; indeed, I believe he may be the worst of villains. I am concerned you may be in danger if he catches up with you. Will you tell me what has befallen you?"

She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, but I sensed her conviction was waning.

"It is so humiliating" she said, great tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I have a friend," I told her, struck with inspiration "who is a doctor, but is also the kindest of men. He is used to hearing difficult personal accounts. If you cannot tell me, will you allow me to escort you to a place of safety, and you may tell him? He will have the utmost respect for your confidentiality." I could see her wavering, no doubt the idea of pouring out her torments to a kindly ear appealing to her. I hoped her confidence would not be shattered when she discovered her confident was a handsome young man, rather than the avuncular trusted old doctor my description may have conjured. Females could be most peculiar in this respect.

"You promise you will not give me up to my husband?"

"I promise I shall not molest you in any way. I will, however, offer you whatever protection I may, and place my humble services at your disposal." I bowed to her with these words, still holding her hand in mine. "I feel you may be better able to face your future in more congenial surroundings. If you will accompany me to my lodgings in Baker Street I can offer you a comfortable chair, a warm fire, and my landlady Mrs Hudson's beef Wellington, which is legendary". She seemed to brighten at the idea. The bare little room must have been oppressive to the spirits, and I speculated the tumult within her brain must have caused it to neglect reminding her to eat.

"Thank you. I think I can trust you. I hope you can forgive me if I find telling my story very...difficult. But perhaps it is fate that you have found me..." (I suppressed my sardonic smile that my methodical labours should be attributed to the vagaries of providence) "...Perhaps it is my duty that I disclose what I know of that man, so that he may not torture anybody else as he has tortured me. I will accompany you." Her voice broke slightly upon the last words, and she drew a dainty handkerchief from her pocket and wrung it around and around her fingers, but her face set with resolution, and I was touched that so frivolous a creature could find such strength.

"You are a brave young woman. If you will remain here for a moment, I shall go and procure us a conveyance." I whistled down a cab, choosing a closed growler with darkened windows, to conceal my fair clients' identity. She stepped up to the cab with her chin in the air and a firm step, but her fingers were still trembling as I assisted her into it. She sank back into the squabs, and alternated between wan attempts at desultory conversation, and continuing to wind her handkerchief between her fingers throughout the journey. As we reached Baker Street, she seemed to shrink a little at the task ahead of her, and she positively froze whilst entering the entrance hall, but this time it was providence which intervened. It sent Mrs Hudson, bustling through the hallway and catching sight of the pale drawn countenance of my youthful companion. She immediately began scolding gently, bustling Emily up the stairs.

"Good Heavens, my dear, you are pale. I am Mrs Hudson; and yours? Emily, a pretty name. Oh, your poor hands are so cold! Well, I don't what Mr Holmes is about bringing you here so late, but you look all done in and shaken. Go you up those stairs and sit with Dr Watson before the fire, and I will fetch you a spot of dinner. The beef has been on the side since eight, I'm afraid, but it will taste none so bad cold. Well, go along with you, Mr Holmes, don't keep the poor young lady waiting." Whilst this treatment would have made me wish to fling a blanket over my landlady in an attempt to silence the squawking, Emily seemed to revive wonderfully under it, and docilely allowed herself to be shooed up the stairs. Watson rose to his feet as Mrs Hudson ushered her in, and gave a start at hearing her name.

"Emily? You are Mrs Rangaford? Well, my dear, I am most gratified to see you are safe! Are you quite well? May I be of assistance?" Emily took the hand he held out, blushing and stammering that she was very well, thank you.

"Mrs Rangaford has been through a most trying ordeal" I interpolated. "She will require food and warming I believe before we speak of anything other than trivia".

"Of course," agreed the doctor, offering Emily a sherry. She accepted, and he kept a gentle flow of easy small talk flowing as Mrs Hudson bustled back in with a tray laden with a magnificent cold collation for us both. Emily ate hungrily, with the air of somebody who is trying hard not to bolt their food. Only when we had drunk the tea which followed our meal did we come down to business, and by this time, she seemed to view both of us, and particularly Watson, as first class protectors.

"Gentlemen," she began haltingly, "you have been so kind. I feel I should like to confide my story to both of you, if you are willing to hear it." We both intimated we were ready. She addressed herself largely to Watson, seizing on him as an anchor in a storm throughout the strain her confession must have imposed upon her. There is no confessional quite like that offered by a doctor. A priest may impress one with the sensation that he is sitting in judgement, a doctor is just there to ease one's difficulties. I was relieved, but not altogether susprised, that Emily's trust in the profession had not been destroyed by the scurrilous rogue who had driven her from her home, but if ever anyone was built to trust, it was this girl. I imagined she would always latch herself gratefully onto kindly authority figures, deriving great security from being gently but firmly directed through life.

"Actually, I believe it will be a relief to tell it, although only yesterday I could have conceived of no worse fate." As her story unfolded, I felt that burning sensation of bilious rage in my stomach which few criminals have been able to rouse in me, and Watson several times shot out of his chair to pace about the room, muttering furious imprecations about scoundrels and villains under his breath. Dr Raddison was indeed a villain and scoundrel, one of the worst I have ever encountered.

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_Don't worry, Emily will reveal all in the next chapter – it flows better this way!_


	8. Chapter 8: Sensory Deprivation

The Case of Hecate House

Chapter 8: Sensory Deprivation

"You will probably be aware, gentlemen" began Emily "that Dr Raddison is held to be something of an authority in matters pertaining to difficulties in bearing children." She looked downcast as she confessed "My husband and I have experienced just such... difficulties. I love him very much, and he me, and it has been a heavy source of sadness to me that I could not present him with this ultimate gift. One feels so very useless."

"You must not think so, my dear" Watson assured her. "There is no blame in these matters, and many couples undergo a long wait before being graced with children." I think only I could see the faint shadow of grief in his eyes, and presumed he must be thinking of himself and Mary; their own long wait, and how she would never see their child grow up, no more than they would grow old together as they had expected.

"It is kind of you to say so, Dr Watson. However, such feelings will intrude, and when George suggested consulting Dr Raddison, I agreed, although I was embarrassed at first."

"How did you come to hear of Dr Raddison?"

"Through Mr Astley, a friend of George's. He said he had seen me look unhappy when that horrible Mrs Amberside was asking me when I meant to start a family. He mentioned Dr Raddison privately to George. Now I wonder if poor Mr Astley may have been under Dr Raddison's spell as well. He has looked terribly worn for a long time, and he used to be so very gay and jolly. He and his wife had been married for almost eight years with no issue, so he said, then they started seeing Dr Raddison, and Mrs Astley was expecting within six months. At first, we thought nothing of it, but as another three months went by, and still nothing, George felt maybe we should give it a try. We arranged to see him at Hecate House, his clinic on the coast in Devonshire. He runs it like a hotel – one consults him in the clinical wing, but there is also a residential wing, as he says his couples should be allowed space. It is beautiful; most tastefully arranged, with all manner of exotic plants dotted around the place in pots, and statues, and lovely pictures.

"Dr Raddison seemed so very charming when we met him. Even now I can scarcely believe what an evil man he is. First, he suggested just settling in and walking about the little garden outside our rooms – all the suites have their own enclosed garden; he says it is protect the identity of other visitors. Our little sitting room looked out onto the sea.

"The next morning was our consultation. I was very nervous, and even George seemed ill at ease and kept clearing his throat in that way of his - " thinking of that way of George's seemed to overcome her for a moment, and she dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes. Recovering herself, she continued. "Dr Raddison had us sit upon a sofa together; he sat opposite us in an easy chair. He begun by asking us general questions; how long we had been married, how we had met, our hope for children. When we were at our ease, he led us over to the desk, and continued to ask us a great many questions. Some of them were very...personal... and at times I found them difficult to answer, but he coaxed so gently, and was so very kind yet matter-of-fact, I was able to continue. George was very red in the face, but he didn't lose his temper, and he answered his questions too."

"What sort of questions were you asked, Mrs Raddison?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. Let me think now. How we settled disagreements. How many servants we employed. Who undertook the housekeeping and paid the bills – several financial questions actually. Then, as I said, many things of a personal nature."

She was blushing scarlet now, and was I very grateful when Watson took it upon himself to direct the interview.

"My dear, I am sure this must be difficult and embarrassing for you, but any information you can give us may be of inestimable value. You are doing very well."

"Thank you doctor. I am sorry to be so silly. You see, he asked about certain... marital habits. How often we... you know. What age was I when I first started having my-my- _monthlies_, and how often I had them. Things like that. He asked George similar things. I didn't even know about some of the things he was talking about" she added innocently, and I was hard pressed not to blush or laugh. Watson, ever the professional, merely nodded gravely in affirmation.

"When the interviews together were concluded, Dr Raddison spoke to us both separately, and he asked us more questions, some similar, some different. I can scarcely remember them now, so much has happened since. I remember he asked me my greatest fear, and what I would do if I was not married to George. What I would do if I disagreed with something George wanted to do – as if I would ever presume so" she added virtuously, in all seriousness.

"Dr Raddison said he then needed some time to collate his information. He sent us back to our apartments, then called us back later the next day. Again he spoke to us together and separately. He told us that he thought much of our trouble was 'sensory mismatch'. He used a number of long words I did not really understand to describe this, but it sounded most impressive. He also explained that our habits may not be conducive to conceiving, and suggested a schedule for us. He also gave me a strong-tasting cordial, which made me feel most relaxed, and told me to keep drinking it, until we were scheduled to... um... have _marital relations_. He said we should keep to separate rooms in the meantime, and he told my husband he must avoid 'emulating Onam', I think were his words. I remember because my husband flushed so much, and coughed and spluttered. Is it something shocking, doctor?"

How Watson contrived to maintain his countenance I do not know, but he managed it with aplomb. "It may have been a little shocking to your husband. It is an indulgence partaken of by many men, perfectly natural, but I do not think it is necessary to mention the details. It is not generally mentioned in polite society." To my relief Emily nodded and did not ask for elucidation, but continued with her story.

"Dr Raddison told us we should benefit from returning to Hecate House in ten days, to stay for four days. We carried out his instructions to the letter. When we returned, he explained to me that he felt the brain was perfectly capable of stopping the process of conception, or helping it, and told me I should concentrate on my task of making my womb hospitable to a baby. He said it was likely that I was becoming distracted by extraneous events, and that sensory deprivation would help me meditate. He gave me some little plugs made of wax to place in my ears, and told me I must shut my eyes tight when I was with George, so I did not become distracted..." her face creased with anguish and fury at this point, and she sobbed into her handkerchief ... "how can I have been so _stupid_! I cannot believe I was not suspicious at this point. Gentlemen, you must pardon me, for indeed I am aware I have been the greatest ninnyhammer that ever lived to be so taken in!"

I had a nasty suspicion I knew what had happened next, and poor Emily confirmed it. "We used a different room on the second night. It was a pretty room, strongly scented with roses. I was obedient, and closed my eyes tight, and concentrated on making a baby. The man then withdrew from the chamber, and I counted to five hundred as Dr Raddison had instructed, before opening my eyes.

"The next two nights, I was back in the first room, and it seemed the same again. George and I returned home feeling very hopeful. We were disappointed on this occasion, but we returned again the next month and tried again. The routine was the same.

"Soon after our return to London, I realised Papa-in-Law had been introduced to Dr Raddison, and he came to stay with us. I was so uncomfortable! I could not help thinking of the topics we had discussed, and I could hardly meet his eye. However, he seemed to be most kind and discreet, and never mentioned anything but the most unexceptional commonplaces. Imagine my puzzlement when I received a letter from him one morning at breakfast, asking me to cancel my trip to Greenwich, and to meet him in confidence when the others were out of the house. The letter instructed me to burn it when I was finished with it. Its tone was most insistent, and claimed to be regarding a subject of great importance. I did as he instructed; I did not even tell dear George."

My stomach was clenched as great tears resumed their course freely down her cheeks. Her voice was husky and trembling as she continued. "I met the villain in the morning room. He first confirmed that I was alone. He then spoke to me in the most horrible, insolent manner, as if he was so sympathetic, as if he was my friend. He said he regretted the financial necessity that had driven him to the step he was about to take, and reassured me that no possibility of illegitimacy would result from it. He then pulled four photographs from an envelope in his pocket. I nearly fainted at the sight of them. Oh God! I cannot bear to think of it! I am so ashamed"

For some minutes she was unable to continue, as she was wracked by a storm of sobbing, and Watson and I both applied ourselves to soothing her, our eyes meeting over her shaking shoulders, our expressions grim as we silently acknowledged with each other the appalling inevitability of what was to happen next.

"My dear, take your time. Please do not be ashamed. If one thing is clear to me, it is that you are an innocent."

"_Innocent!_ Oh, that is rich! That is exactly what I am not!" and she started laughing hysterically, before recollecting herself. "Forgive me, gentlemen. I scarcely know what I am saying any longer. You see, these photographs were of...myself. Myself, and ... another man, unfamiliar to me, but of a similar build to George. My eyes were tightly closed, but I was still easily recognisable. In two photographs he had only a moustache, but in the next two he had a goatee, so it was evidently two separate occasions. He was aware of the camera, it seemed. I need hardly say I was not. The room I recognised as the rose scented chamber at Hecate House. And myself and this stranger were engaged in ... an intimate activity that only a husband and wife should ever engage in. Dr Raddison was asking for five thousand pounds for them, or he would show them to my husband, and expose me ... as an adulteress."

* * *

_What a bounder of the first order! Poor innocent duped Emily; I hope Holmes and Watson can help her. Thank you for reading – and please please review! My review table has been a little empty of late, and I am trying to survive on the crumbs. _


	9. Chapter 9: A hiding place

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 9: A hiding place**

For a short while after Emily completed this part of her tale, Watson and I could only sit, jaws clenched, in silence. We then recollected ourselves, and fell to the task of soothing the poor girl again. This was more difficult than the last time, as the mortification of recounting her terrible experience seemed only to have added to her woes. Eventually, she was sitting, subdued, red-eyed and puffy faced and able to carry on a rational conversation.

"Do you have any plans, Mrs Rangaford, as to what you will do now?"

"I do not know. I had intended to obtain work as a seamstress, and live upon the proceeds of pawning my trinkets, but it was harder than I expected. Perhaps someone would have a use for me as a teacher of very young children, or maybe you know of a respectable occupation I could pursue?" She looked beseechingly at us as she spoke these words. I shuddered to think at the unrespectable occupations this innocent could find herself undertaking.

"Am I to assume you are not ready to return to your husband? I am certain he must see that you were no more than a dupe in this appalling situation, which is no worse than he has been himself."

"I _could_ not!" she declared, with fierce vehemence at odds with the habitual sweetness of her expression. "He would _not_ understand. Even if he did, perhaps he would still be disgusted by me. What man wishes a wife so despoiled? No, I can never return – I could not bear to see the look on his face when he discovered my secret, and it would be wrong to go back to him under false pretences. He must then see those photographs, see that I do not look unhappy, see that they were taken on two separate occasions in a room he does not recognise, and listen to the poison that viper will pour in his ear that I was having an affair, that I am a willing adulteress. And even if I told him before the photographs were sent, he may think I was only telling him because I must know the truth was to come out anyway. I have to leave him, so he may be happy. If I stay away for long enough, perhaps he can divorce me, and marry a worthier wife, who will not be barren and not disgrace him with conduct so revolting it must make his skin crawl to look at her." She looked so forlorn at this point, even my hard heart was wrung. Watson gathered both her hands in his and spoke kindly and gravely to her.

"You must not speak of yourself in these terms, my dear. You have been the victim of a grievous assault – a rape in essence. Nobody is to blame except the scoundrels who so heartlessly attacked you. Any man who thought the worse of you for what has occurred must be entirely unworthy of your esteem."

I deemed it time to say my part. I had been considering a scheme which may be most efficacious.

"Mrs Rangaford, I believe your husband would be mollified if there was no chance your confession was forced. If the photographs were to be destroyed, and you were to tell him your tale without the immediate sequel of images which must wrench his heart, I am sure his protective instincts must be aroused."

She looked at me with wide eyes, filled with hope. "Do you believe it is so? Oh, I pray you may be right. But that monster is never going to part with the photographs without payment, and I do not have the money to pay him. He thinks I do. When he quizzed me about who paid the bills, I replied that I did, as George encourages me to do so. I did not tell him that George checks over all my accounts afterwards, and that he would immediately see any aberration. Perhaps you could convince him that I do not have the money, Mr Holmes?"

"I hope I may be able to do better. This loathsome rascal must be stopped. I do not believe you will be his only victim, and I should wish to prevent any more naive young women becoming caught in his toils. Dr Watson and myself shall investigate his organisation, and I am confident we will be able to destroy him. In the meantime, I have a place in mind where you may shelter in perfect safety. We may ask your sister in law to inform your husband that you are safe, but have been threatened, and that we do not know your whereabouts."

"But what if George tells Dr Raddison this news?"

"He will not. You will tell me some little piece of embarrassing information that Dr Raddison extracted from your husband – nothing too compromising, but not the sort of thing a man would wish to be made public. I shall pass this piece of information on to your admirable sister in law, who will ask George not to confide in Dr Raddison, saying that she believes he is a gossip. She will then repeat what she overheard him joking about to his wife. It should provoke enough rage in his breast to exclude Raddison form the loop, whilst making him wary enough to not offend the good doctor, bearing in mind the sensitive details the man has on him."

The fresh hope in Mrs Rangaford's eyes now seemed dazzling. "That is brilliant, Mr Holmes! Oh thank you, thank you! I wish I had come to you from the first. Do you really think you may be able to expose him?"

"I do believe it." I replied, with all the conviction I could put into my voice. Watson supported me ardently.

"Mr Holmes has triumphed through greater adversity than this, Mrs Rangaford. He will make things right, and you will be returning to your husband a righted woman again."

"I will do whatever you suggest, Mr Holmes. Please just tell me what I must do."

"I shall take you to a place of safety tonight. Simply allow me to send a telegram first, and then we will proceed together. It is not far. Please to stay with Dr Watson in the meantime. Perhaps he can recount some of his much embroidered tales of our previous exploits while you wait."

"I should enjoy that", she replied, quite genuinely.

I left the house to head for the telegraph office again. I was pleased to note I had already received replies from Mycroft, waiting for me at the Post Office. I chewed on the end of a pencil as I composed my next message. It was a sensitive issue after all, but I had great faith in the associate I was about to ask for help. My message read thus:

HAVE YOUNG WOMAN IN NEED OF SUCCOUR STOP NO FAULT OF HER OWN STOP IMMINENTLY RESPECTABLE BUT MUST BE SHELTERED UNTIL THIS MAY BE PROVEN STOP WOULD FIT IN AS PUPIL OR TEACHER STOP COVER STORY IS FAMILY ABROAD AND FINANCES FROZEN DASH RICHES TO RAGS BUT WITH POSSIBILITY OF REVERSE STOP CAN YOU HELP QUERY IMMEDIATE REPLY AND PLEASE BURN MESSAGE STOP SH

I addressed the telegram and asked for it to be delivered into no other hands but that of the headmistress of The Rosehip Heath Seminary – Miss Violet Hunter.


	10. Chapter 10: Miss Violet Hunter

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 10: Miss Violet Hunter**

Since our first encounter, which Watson has chronicalled as _The Adventure of the Copper Beeches_, I had been impressed by Violet Hunter. She had displayed an admirably clear head in that thorny situation which had stayed in my mind. As far as Watson was concerned, our involvement had ended there. In fact, I had noticed the first moves towards match-making on Watson's side before we had even overset the Rucastle's foul schemes, and decided to nip them in the bud. If I were ever to pursue a courtship, I should wish it to be on my own terms – besides, I had no such intention with Miss Hunter. Admittedly, I availed myself of Mycroft's influence to help her obtain a place at her present school, knowing the institution respected intelligence and independence of thought in their staff. Miss Hunter did not know this at first, and I chose not to enlighten her. I had been pleased to hear she was doing very well. However, she was ever an observant woman, and something the headmistress let slip led her to deduce my small part in her success. Her gratitude was quite disproportionate. She asked so earnestly to be allowed to help me in some fashion that I believed she would truly be more comfortable if she had an opportunity to do so.

It so happened that only a few short days after Miss Hunter making this request of me, an opportunity arose where I had need of a female counterpart in a little surveillance, to catch the principal in the centre of a series of burglary operations. He tended to meet his suppliers and buyers at a cosy little Italian restaurant near Charing Cross station. Couples would sit heedless of the passage of time in the romantic atmosphere. As one of an apparently amorous pair, I would be able to sit unobserved for hours, and thereby catch my prey in its own lair. I would usually have asked Nancy to accompany me on this kind of undertaking, but her face had been well known to a perpetrators I suspected of buying my targets' smoky goods, and she would have been too conspicuous. The restaurant was decidedly genteel, which eliminated most of my other female associates. Violet Hunter would perform admirably in this setting, and I felt she would be delighted to repay some of the obligation she felt herself to be under. I had not been disappointed – she acquiesced willingly. In fact, she was most animated and excited at the prospect of investigating "a real-life criminal – what an adventure, Mr Holmes!" The flush of excitement on her cheeks that night was not only most becoming, but added credence to her being a young lover in the first throes of passion.

The evening had been unexpectedly more exciting than I had predicted. I had asked Lestrade and his men to station themselves outside, and I would signal when I beheld their target incriminating himself. I had meant to usher Miss Hunter out of the restaurant before the police materialised, but their enthusiasm overbore their patience, and they burst in before we could escape. My target had bodyguards stationed in a corner table, and all his accolytes put up a spirited resistance, necessitating me bundling my female associate unceremoniously under the table before joining the fray myself.

I was engaged in a hearty slogging match with one of the more recognisable of my target's criminal associates when he bolted, charging into the station. I followed hot on his heels, with the result that he turned upon me as I caught up with him in the waiting room, and dealt me an impressive blow with a short cudgel, knocking out my left canine. He was not allowed to finish his work before a stunning blow upon the temple from a heavy chair leg knocked him out cold, and I looked up to see Miss Hunter holding said chair leg and calmly surveying her handiwork. She had had to escape the restaurant when one villain attempted to accost her, she had seen my precipitant pursuit, and duplicated it. She had sustained a mild injury to her lip, and rather more severe damage to her careful coiffure and elegant dress. Cutting me short as I began babbling profuse apologies, she picked up my tooth, handed it to me, and suggested sucking it clean, then attempting to fit it back into its socket. I was so taken aback with her matter-of-fact attitude I dumbly obeyed her, and my tooth re-embedded itself successfully. She would not accept that her conduct was in any way remarkable, or that I stood immensely in her debt for exposing her to such a scene. Quite the opposite, her eyes sparked with animation, and she declared she had never before been allowed to have so much fun.

Since that memorable day, she had accompanied me on several more minor ventures, none so eventful as the first, and I had purchased a superior replacement for the damaged frock. I had gained a valuable ally and staunch friend.

I was smiling to myself at these reminiscences when the reply to my telegram arrived, after a delay of no more than twenty minutes. Even though I knew the school was only seven minutes from the nearest Post Office, I still admired the efficiency of the woman. I tore open and read the reply:

WILL EXPECT YOUR POOR UNFORTUNATE TONIGHT STOP TELL ME MORE WHEN YOU ARRIVE STOP WARN HER TO ACCEPT ANY SYMPATHETIC COMMENTS WITHOUT DISPUTE STOP VH

This display of decisiveness was admirable, but no more than I had come to expect from her. I put her reply, and those from Mycroft, in the pocket of my greatcoat, and started back to Baker Street.

I arrived back to Baker Street to find Watson and Mrs Rangaford deep in discussion of the works of Jane Austen (a subject Watson feigns interest in, knowing its popularity with the gentle sex). Mrs Rangaford jumped to her feet, betraying her underlying agitation.

"Mrs Rangaford, if you will accompany me, my associate would be glad, indeed grateful, to house you for the foreseeable future."

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. It is most kind of whoever they are – I can hardly conceive of such kindness to somebody they have never met."

"They are that sort of person", I replied, laughing internally at the sight of Watson burning with curiosity regarding the identity of this anonymous philanthropist, and ignoring him. I ushered her out of the room.

The two of us shared a hansom ride across London, making desultory conversation, until the rocking of our carriage lulled the exhausted girl to sleep. I smoked a thoughtful pipe as we travelled. The carriage pulled up in front of the genteel entrance to Miss Hunter's school, the graceful plane trees in the gardens lending an air of sleepy peacefulness to the place, and the scent of flowers sweet in the night time stillness. I paid off the cabby, then woke Emily, and ushered her through the gates.

A side door opened, and golden light spilled out onto the path. Miss Hunter stood framed in the doorway, a smile of welcome upon her face. She slipped her arms around my companion, whom I introduced as Emma Beresford, and said;

"My dear, I am so sorry to hear of your troubles. You must be exhausted. Come in and take a cup of tea or hot milk, and we shall put you to bed. Time enough to tell me the latest news of your family in the morning."

"Thank you" whispered Emily. "You are so very kind". Miss Hunter disclaimed, and fussed over her, firmly shepherding her up the stairs to a small bed chamber, and politely asking a housemaid to bring her some tea and to be sure she had everything she needed, whilst telling "Emma" she had warmed her sheets and laid out some clothes for her to use "until your own turn up. It is disgraceful that the porters should lose your trunks. Tomorrow I shall send Tom to the station, to see if he can come upon them".

When Emily had been tucked in and taken care of, Miss Hunter returned to me, holding a branch of candles in her hand.

"It is good to see you, Mr Holmes. Will you join me for a cup of tea or a night cap in the front parlour?"

"I would be delighted. I must thank you for housing my charge."

"It is always an honour to be associated with your cases. I must confess, I am agog with curiosity. Are you able to tell me what has befallen that poor child? I see she has been wearing a wedding band until recently – is her husband misusing her?"

"Not entirely. But you are correct as to the ring. I suggest you apply a little walnut oil to her finger."

"It shall be done tomorrow."

"Thank you. As for Emily, I am afraid she has been the victim of a most dastardly trick played upon her by a man purporting to be helping herself and her husband with difficulties in conceiving children."

"That child? She does not look old enough to be preoccupying herself with such worries."

"She is a little older than she appears. She has been worried. And she has been duped, magnificently and evilly, by a charlatan, who pretends to 'cure' this affliction, but who is a vicious blackmailer, and I suspect, a murderer."

"Good Heavens! The poor girl! Well, I am very glad you have brought her to me. Where is her husband in all these schemes?"

I filled Miss Hunter in with the bare details as to Emily's sad situation. She was suitably appalled, and professed herself eager to help in any way she could to catch this monster.

"How do you plan on opening your campaign?" she asked, sipping her tea.

"I shall investigate the man and his surroundings in my usual fashion. I need the details as to how he runs his organisation. I shall also have some further insight into his practices - Watson shall enter the lion's den, along with Nancy Harrison, in the guise of a despondent young couple."

"Does Dr Watson know it yet?" she enquired shrewdly.

"Yes, on this occasion, he does."

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_Well, that's Emily taken care of. I expect we may be seeing some more of Miss Violet Hunter..._

_Please read and review!_


	11. Chapter 11: My Lord and Lady

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 11: My Lord and Lady**

What Watson did not know was the sacrifice I required of him, which a perusal of Mycroft's telegram told me would be essential. He was smoking in the armchair by the fire, and making an obviously distracted attempt to read a medical journal. He sat up eagerly on my return, wishing information.

"Holmes! Have you safely bestowed Mrs Rangaford? Have you decided upon a course of action yet? What are you intending to tell Miss Meredith Rangaford?"

"One question at a time, old fellow", I upbraided him, smiling. "I take it you wish to play a part in delivering a comeuppance to this villain."

"I have never wished anything more!" he exclaimed, his bristling moustache helping to express his fury. "The man is obviously dung from the devil's own herd, and deserves to be lashed behind the cart."

"If that is indeed the case, I shall speak to Nancy in the morning about visiting the beast in his lair."

"I would be delighted."

"There is just one thing..."

"Oh, I know that tone Holmes. Don't raise your eyebrows, you know very well what I mean. The wheedling tone. What more is it you require of me?"

I had to throw back my head and laugh. "Watson, indeed you are becoming too percipient for me! You are quite correct, I do require a further sacrifice. You recall my mentioning I felt the man would be a fool if he did not investigate the credentials of his illustrious clients?"

"Yees."

"Well, brother Mycroft has turned up trumps. He has found an ideal identity for you. You shall be Sir Hamish Gosford and Lady Maria Gosford, a wealthy young baronet and his wife from near Carlisle. Sir Hamish is one of Mycroft's particular pets; Mycroft is grooming him for a highly useful career. He and his wife are childless, but this is probably because the nature of his work for the government precludes him embarking on the project of breeding with the requisite application. They are to travel _in cognito_ to Belgium next week, to look into some small financial irregularities at the consulate, and in the meantime are very willing that their identities may be borrowed for a good cause."

"That sounds perfect, Holmes. What is the catch?"

"Sir Hamish is a dark haired, clean shaven man."

"Surely I do not need to resemble him in all particulars?"

"Perhaps not, but if I were Dr Raddison, I should send an employee to Little Orton whence his client hails, who would drink at the local hostelry and ask a few questions regarding the squire. He may be suspicious if he receives an accurate report, then greets a sandy haired, moustachioed gentleman instead of the dark, hairless one he was expecting."

"Oh, very well. I suppose it is in the best of causes. The moustache must go, and I suppose you will be attacking me with a vile smelling concoction to dye my hair?"

"Watson, you shall be welcomed in Heaven. Such self sacrificing behaviour!"

"Humph! I suppose there will be no cause for you to shave your head?"

"Not at present."

"I can but hope. Male-pattern baldness, back of the pate first."

"If I must ever adopt a tonsure, you may wield the razor."

"Generous of you. Ah well, if it were to be done, 'twere best it be done quickly. I shall bid farewell to the moustache forthwith. Will you also dye me tonight?"

"If you are willing. I have a suitable agent in the house."

"Your hair is black, Holmes. Why do you have black hair dye?"

"One must be prepared for various eventualities. Besides, it is more of a very dark brown."

I must confess, although I train myself to observe the underlying features of my fellow-men, rather than simply their trimmings, I was still taken aback by how comprehensively Watson's appearance was changed by his altered colouring and loss of facial hair. I had to dye his face somewhat with walnut oil to remove the pale patch under where his moustache had been, and as I regarded him later that night, I could almost believe myself to be beholding a stranger.

"It suits you, Watson."

"Thank you, Holmes. I shall have to take care to remain clean shaven. A light beard may be something of a giveaway."

"I would expect nothing less from a man of your fastidiousness."

"If you are finished with me, I would appreciate some sleep. I daresay I shall be meeting our friend Raddison tomorrow."

"Yes, we shall have to ask Miss Meredith to introduce you – you can be a friend of a friend. I expect she will like the brooding dark good looks. Very Mr Darcy, is it not?"

"Oh, do shut up, Holmes. Good night."

"Good night."

So far, this case was furnishing plenty of interest, and plenty of scope for action, but despite the myriad of possibilities as to this fiend's activities, there was little requiring active thought that would benefit from an all night sitting. I found myself unsettled and restless, however, and did not feel like sleep. It was by now very late (or, more accurately, very early), so I felt I should not practice the violin, in case I woke up the infant no doubt slumbering next door at 219B and incurred similar wrath to the last time I committed this heinous offense. I settled with prowling the streets, the watery gaslight shimmering upon the pavements, in the guise of a loafer, observing my fellow men as the late night revellers overlapped with, then gave way to, the early morning workers. I returned to snatch an hour's sleep upon the sofa before performing my ablutions and setting out to visit Nancy Harrison.

* * *

_I rather like the idea of a crossbreed Dr Watson and Mr Darcy. I think Dr Raddison should start to be worried - a lot of opposition is gathering for his schemes. What will Nancy Harrison add? Find out it the next chapter - and, as always PLEASE R&R!_


	12. Chapter 12: Nancy Harrison

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 12: Nancy Harrison**

When Nancy was not assuming the role of heroine at London's more upmarket theatre-houses, she was to be found in a light and airy, but unpretentious street, in a spacious town-house with small garden front and rear. She had purchased the house when her career was in the ascendency, and now she was enjoying a long zenith, she could easily have afforded to have moved to some more fashionable district. She was ever unconventional though, and preferred to be surrounded by the broad cross section of society her present location offered, from aspiring and newly prosperous tradesmen, to doctors, solicitors and politicians, and even the odd burglar with leanings towards gentility. She could, on foot, in a short space of time travel from the seething activity of the slums to the grand leafy streets of London's great and good. Naturally gregarious, Nancy had a number of friendly acquaintances amongst her neighbours, but few of them knew that the darling of the stage was unassuming Miss Nancy Harrison of Elderberry Road.

I rung her front doorbell this morning, and it was answered by Nancy's unusual butler-cum-general factotum, Reeves. An amiable favourite of Nancy's disreputable elder brother Jem Harrison (now a famous boxing promoter, but previously a promoter of highly illegal prize fights which I had participated in myself on many occasions as a flighty young man) Reeves did not have many of the attributes prized in senior domestic staff. Too many blows to the head had left his memory unreliable, and he was likely to wander off in the midst of serving dinner, only to never reappear with the gravy or the wine, and to be found cleaning the silver and whistling tunelessly through his teeth with a vague expression on his face. His face was another remarkable feature, with a flattened, crooked nose, cauliflower ears, and an array of impressive scars. He was a good-natured enough fellow though, and he adored Nancy with a dog-like devotion – she was fond of him in turn.

"Eh, it's Mister Sherry! How ista, Lad?" he greeted me, using the nickname forced upon me when I was not-yet twenty, and never yet shaken off by the Harrison family.

"I am very well, thank you Reeves. Yourself?"

"Can't complain, lad, can't complain." There was a pause whilst Reeves beamed at me, then I gently prompted

"May I come in, Reeves? Is Nancy about?"

"Ee, where's me manners?" he exclaimed, looking perturbed as he remembered his duties, "She's away oopstairs, int front room, learnin' her lines. Right gradely it is to hear her" he added, a doting smile crossing his features. "Follow me, Mister Sherry."

As we climbed the stairs, I could hear Nancy reciting to herself;

" _....produces absolutely no vibrations... I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John_..." she broke off as I entered. "Sherry!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, running over to me in a most unladylike fashion, flinging her arms around my neck, and planting a plump kiss upon my lips. "You sod! Where have you been? I was starting to think you were dead again!"

"You can always visit me, you know. You would always be welcome, and you are about the only unrespectable female Mrs Hudson actually doesn't view with hostility" I smiled.

"Oh, you have an answer for everything as normal. What a cheek to call me unrespectable, though."

"I do have first hand knowledge of your lack of respectability, and I've always been very glad of it."

"Ugh, you dog! What do you want?"

"Must I always want something?"

"Yes, when you have that face on."

"What face?"

"That bland face which says you don't want something, but have come only for the pleasure of my company."

I threw up my hands and laughed. "Mea culpa! I do want something, Nance, and it's important this time. There's blackmail and murder in it. An upper-class swine who pretends to cure infertility but who includes tricking the unfortunates who trust in him into unwittingly copulating with other men, photographing them, then blackmailing tem, as part of his repertoire. I expect that repertoire is extensive, and I am sure he has murdered at least one of his 'patients' also."

"Good God! He sounds quite the country gentleman.... how on _earth_ could anyone be _tricked_ into copulating with another man – are you sure these people aren't complicit?"

"Quite sure. Simply shockingly innocent and ignorant."

"Well, helping such people to breed sounds criminal enough in itself. How do you see me helping?"

"This Dr Raddison. In elevated circles, he is considered quite the authority for those experiencing difficulty in conceiving. I do not know his full range yet, but I would wish to obtain first hand information on his conduct. He runs an establishment which is a combination of country house and clinic in Devonshire, called Hecate House."

"Hecate was a goddess of fertility, was she not?"

"Yes. Very apposite. I have procured false identities from Mycroft for a married set of the Northern gentry. A childless couple, worried about the lack of an heir. Watson is to play the male lead, for the medical perspective, and I would be most grateful if you could play the female.... what is it? You look suddenly self-conscious."

Nancy laughed in a nervous fashion, rather unlike herself. "I suppose I have a confession to make.... I may not be best suited to the role of barren wife. Funny you should mention respectability also. You see.... I'm with child myself."

I froze at this admission, and she chuckled, sounding less constrained, at the look on my face.

"Don't panic, Sherry! I still have around seven months to go." I sighed with relief as I performed the mental calculation, not feeling particularly indignant. We were both only semi-exclusive merchandise, after all. Then concern took over.

"What will you do, Nancy? Do you require assistance?"

"I'm turning respectable. I am to be made an honest woman before I begin to show too much. My fiancé is a good man, well educated and with excellent prospects, and he makes me laugh, which is most important. He is understanding, also, and knows my past. However, I would not try his patience too far, nor betray his trust once we are married, so I'm afraid you and I cannot continue on the same footing as before."

I felt the slight pang of regret as I remembered the many occasions of tumbled sheets and tangled limbs, of soft skin, breathless sighs and laughter, of Nancy's hair spread out on the pillow, her broad, slow grin as I met her eyes in the morning. I then buried the unworthy emotions, and discovered the vicarious pleasure I should have felt at hearing she found someone creditable to take care of her, which I suppose is what every woman wants, however independent.

"I felicitate you, Nance" I said, taking her hands, and kissing her cheek. "Your fiancé is indeed a fortunate man. I could not come so close to feeling envy for anyone else."

"Beautifully said! Now, about this Dr Raddison..."

"Under the circumstances, I would not expect you to participate."

"My fiancé is a man of strong moral character, despite his attitude towards premarital relations. He would wish to see this horrid character declawed, I am sure. Do you think a woman in the early stages of pregnancy could be of any use to you in a fertility clinic?"

"Well, I had intended for you both to be woefully ignorant where species _avian_ and _apis_ are concerned. Such a couple would most likely not notice their sudden fecundity. But no, I cannot ask it of you, or of your prospective husband."

"I'm not married yet" she replied with a grin. "When do we start?"

**********************

_Nancy sounds equal to anything! Quite a collection of useful females, our misogynistic detective is gathering around him. I'd be worried if I was Dr Raddison. Please R&R – you know I love it!_


	13. Chapter 13: Hecate House

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 13: Hecate House**

Nancy accompanied me back to Baker Street, to rehearse with Watson their prospective roles. I set out to task my street urchin with engineering a meeting between Miss Meredith Rangaford and Sir Hamish Gosford, alias Dr John H. Watson.

Roberts recognised my disguise and tripped over to me. He was posing as a crossing-sweeper today – I was pleased he was using his ingenuity to find ways of blending in, and tipped him half a shilling.

"Not much garn on t'day, Guv'nor" he reported smartly, pocketing the coin as his just reward. "Mort's bin out wiv ver titchy dog onct, an' she's bin sittin' in ver winda wiv 'er peepers 'arf on a book an 'arf on me." He tapped himself on the chest proudly.

"Well observed, Roberts. When the lady next ventures out of doors, I would like you to deliver this letter to her – with the usual precautions, mind. I shall send Wilkins to you this afternoon to collect her reply."

"Yoo sure yoo can trust vat gudgeon, Guv'nor?" he asked, with a cheeky grin at his own daring in insulting his superior.

My letter briefed Miss Raddison about my plans, and reassured her that Emily was safe and well. I explained I wished her to procure an introduction to Dr Raddison for Sir Hamish, and I felt staging an encounter between acquaintances in a public location would be the safest way of proceeding, as we still could not be certain the suspicious Dr Raddison was not having her watched. Her reply was as expected, but also contained the news that she had been acquainted with the real Sir Hamish's sister, so almost felt herself not to be lying about knowing the brother. She was most thankful that Emily was safe, and declared that she would be eager to know the details of her discovery and rescue at a more opportune time.

So it was that later that evening, Sir Hamish and his lady set off for a Mozart recital at the Whittaker Hall, one of the few eminent establishments where Anetta Harrison would not be recognised immediately. I had some trepidation about Watson's ability to play the role, but hoped Nancy would guide him appropriately. I need not have feared, for they returned to Baker Street shortly before midnight, ready to import the excellent news that a timid and hesitant Sir Hamish had approached Miss Raddison, claiming association via his sister and introducing his wife.

"John was excellent, Sherry. Appropriately awkward and nervous, with an obvious ulterior motive."

"You are too kind, Nancy. I felt Lady Hamish sealed the package – staring at me with great intense eyes, until I felt she was all but kicking me under the table to get me to the point!"

After some aimless small talk, Sir Hamish had broached the subject of Dr Raddison.

"I was very impressed with your Miss Rangaford, Sherry. She should have been on the stage herself."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, Holmes, she was magnificent. She put on a beautiful display of veiled disdain and reluctance, and tried subtly to dissuade us from consulting Dr Raddison. She eventually acquiesced, and agreed to introduce us at her house, but only after considerable persuasion, and when she saw we weren't to be dissuaded. She even warned us to have a care when we were introduced, saying she was not certain how fully she'd trust the good doctor."

"I'm not sure her performance was wasted, either" mused Nancy, her brow creasing. "There was a very ill-favoured little fellow hovering not far from us, who'd have looked more at home at a very different establishment. He seemed to be listening to our conversation, and he slipped off when Miss Rangaford did. I think you're right in thinking she has a tail, Sherry. Reassuringly unprofessional, though. At least now he thinks her suspicions are only vague. Maybe he'll leave her alone for a while."

"Most enlightening. You both appear to have done very well. When have you arranged to meet our friend?"

"We wasted no time, Holmes. I shall call on him tomorrow morning, and beg an appointment at Hecate House."

Watson set out unaccompanied for Mayfair the next morning, Nancy having repaired to meet her fiancé, and explain her latest exploits. I was therefore left to bear my anxiety alone, and the other minor cases I had on hand were insufficiently distracting. I was relieved when my partner returned, flushed with triumph.

"He bit, Holmes! I hinted at generous recompense, and I believe the emerald tie-pin and expensive suit you loaned me helped to complete the promise of great largesse. He will be returning to Hecate House on Friday, and he begs that my wife and I will join him at the weekend. I must say, Holmes, he is a charming man. We had little conversation – he was most businesslike – but he exuded a sympathetic and compassionate air, even during the brief process of making arrangements. It is little wonder folk believe in him."

"Do not be taken in, Doctor. A wolf in sheep's clothing is more to be feared than a wolf in his own clothing."

"Snappy dressers, wolves."

"Watson, that is dreadful. However, you have done very well. You will need to prepare for your trip. Are you to be staying the night?"

"Yes. I shall need to augment my wardrobe further. It will not do for my humble raiment to be scrutinised when the servants unpack my bags."

"Easily enough done. Mr Elmore, Mycroft's tailor, should be able to provide you with something suitable in two days, giving us a day to age it a little."

"I must say, Holmes, I look forward to this. It will be good to come to grips with the fellow. I sincerely hope we can expose him for the fiend he is. What will you be doing?"

"I shall take a little trip to Devonshire. I should like to hear what the locals have to say about their most interesting neighbour."

I travelled down to Devon separately from Watson and Nancy, but in the same train. I was in the guise of a journalist, my intention to announce that I was a travel writer and collector of anecdotes. It is a ruse I have used before, and, if my profession is only hinted at, and I initially appear to evince little interest, I find the local folk are stumbling over each other to share their insights with me.

Sir Hamish and his wife were met at the station by a smart barouche. They appeared very much in role, Nancy linking her arm with Watson, and clinging becomingly. I procured my own conveyance, and travelled to the local inn. I dropped a hint to the landlord about the book I was compiling, and set out.

"I intend to see the local sights. I find background material adds depth to any work of literature, and I shall be in search of inspiration. I would be grateful for dinner at seven o'clock, if you would be so kind."

"Roight you are, Sor. Will e be requoiring a proivate parlour?"

"No, I shall dine with the locals. Local wisdom is often so illuminating and quaint. I shall soak up their words."

At my first sight of Hecate House, my thought was that a fortress could not have been more excellently situated. It stood on a small promontory, which tapered down to cliff edges, bordering on the sea. For a mile in either direction, the coast rose high and sheer. Before the grounds met the cliff edge, a large copse stood, dark and brooding trees standing sentry around the house. The house itself was beautiful. Built with the pleasing symmetry of the Elizabethans, from a light grey stone which would appear mellow in sunlight, it was the epitome of welcoming English grandeur. The grounds were extensive, and, when I climbed the nearest hill and looked downwards through Watson's field glasses, I could see there were several outhouses, including a large one shielded by the trees, near the cliff edge. I could also see the great, glass topped wall which ran all around the property, except for the cliff edge – ostensibly to keep out prying eyes, but contrasting with the house itself, to lend the whole a sinister air. There were several small, walled gardens, as Emily had described, within the perimeter wall. Outside these, I could make out several prowling dogs. Gaining illegitimate entry to Hecate House would be difficult.

I contemplated the front lawn of Hecate House, that backing onto the copse and the sea. The dogs did not appear to be stationed here. This may be my best point of entry. Swinging my stout walking stick, I strolled to the cliff path, and arrived, thirty three minutes later, warm and somewhat exhilarated by the exercise. I followed the cliff path until I reached the forbidding perimeter wall. A buttress had been built to prevent ingress around the edge of the wall, and I would not make the attempt. I lay on my front, and looked down at the cliffs below. There was no beach, just savage waters boiling deeply beneath, probably the bane of smugglers and sailors for generations. My eye was caught my a small islet, about half a mile out to sea, and by a fishing boat. I have a certain understanding of seafaring men, and thought I would like to explore Hecate House's sea-bound border.

I returned with an excellent appetite and several fledgling schemes, to my inn, and found it crowded. Upon my entry, half the heads in the place swivelled around to regard me. Unperturbed, I crossed to the bar.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Would anybody care for a drink?"

* * *

I rose from the bar much later that evening slightly unsteady on my feet, despite my skilfully managing to dispose of most of my own drinks – that which remained was still sufficient to leave me a trifle incommoded. However, I have a hard head, and suffer more from a surfeit of memory as opposed to a lack after a heavy drinking session. The information I had gleaned would make up for my anticipated hangover. I had had to listen to numerous stories involving ancient scandals, performing budgerigars and life saving goats, but fortunately, many of the locals wished to discuss their pet sinister eccentric, "The darctar up ter big house".

It appeared Dr Raddison had carved out quite a reputation for himself. The suave, urbane physician of top-of-the-trees London had a very different side in his rural homeland. He was renowned for his savage and ungoverned temper, and a tendency to lay about him with his horsewhip, which had almost led to prosecution on two occasions, before wealth and influence hushed the matter up.

There were yet more sinister tales. A keen sportsman and follower of hounds, he and his servants had ostensibly hunted a local wag who had attempted to break in to the sacred portals of Hecate House on horseback with a pack of dogs. My informants in the taproom were convinced that the hounds, which were said to be peculiarly savage, would have torn the boy to pieces had he not sought shelter in the tavern. Raddison had followed him within, and his accomplices had held the boy down whilst they meted out a brutal discipline, until eventually the patrons stopped their fun.

Dr Raddison had done an excellent job of cultivating an almost supernatural reputation as local demon. I was informed in hushed voices that the grounds were haunted.

"Ye see, Sor, oor Davey Yestin" (the local poacher, I collected) "wur roamin' around yon woods borderin' 'Ecate's grounds. 'E wur followin' the wall along, when 'e 'ears a babby's cry, carried on the wind. It wur comin' from yon barn. Now, Sor, what be a gentleman loike Raddison doin' with a babby 'idden away in them woods? 'E's up to no good, I tell 'e. An' it bain't only ocnt 'e's 'eard it. Three times now, an' this weeks apart, the wail of a tiny babby."

I pricked up my ears at this point. Had Raddison added baby farming to his repertoire? He wouldn't be the first – the appalling practice was common enough, one of the great unacknowledged shames of our empire. What a coup for a fertility specialist – to produce the much-desired goods, with no questions asked. I determined to cast my net a little wider, and enquire at the local foundling hospitals. I was sure I would get little information regarding baby trafficking from the authorities, but the domestic staff may prove fruitful. If nothing else, Raddison's infants would require wet nurses, and these individuals may also be found at the hospitals. My campaign was beginning to take shape.

* * *

_Seems increasingly sinister. What will the morning bring?_


	14. Chapter 14: Hush Little Baby

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 14: Hush Little Baby**

The next morning, I could have cursed my campaign, and everything connected with it, particularly the inferior quality liquor served at this hostelry. My mouth felt as if something had crawled into it and died on my tongue whilst I slept, whilst my head was quietly throbbing. I moved softly about the room, to avoid jarring the eyeballs from my head, and to prevent myself becoming overwhelmed by quaking nausea.

A long draught of icy water straight from the pump, and some strong black sludge-like coffee restored my humanity to some degree, and enabled me to drive an acceptably hard bargain for hire of the landlord's cob. With the address of three parish-sponsored institutions for destitute and bastard infants tucked into my belt, I set off at a respectably early hour.

My journey to the first was not above fifteen miles, and I was soon introducing my author's persona to the matron, Mrs Whitney. To my delight, I struck gold immediately - I was successful beyond my greatest expectations.

On declaring that my work would be anonymous and confidential, and that I was hoping for "elevating and moving stories, particularly if you know anything of the rags to riches variety", my informant was keen to gossip. She was a reassuringly warm woman, obviously imbued with a deep sense of responsibility, and fond of the babies under her care, unlike so many of those involved in England's vast numbers of illegitimate or orphaned infants. Like many round, good natured women, she was naturally garrulous, and enjoyed being able to relate a story which resounded to her own credit, but I certainly did not begrudge this as, with her narrative, some Raddison's nebulous activities began to coalesce into more distinct shapes.

Mrs Whitney let me into the main nursery, with an array of cots, plain but impeccably clean. I felt unaccustomedly touched to see the inhabitant of each cot possessed a hand-knitted blanket and a stuffed toy. Plainly Mrs Whitney saw her charges as more than so many pot plants to be reared for profit. There was a small room adjoining this with the door propped open. I presumed from the rocking chair and pillow within that it must be for the suckling of breast-fed infants.

Two of the babies were squalling, and Mrs Whitney bustled about, calling for a nursemaid to bring her two bottles. To my initial horror, she handed one tiny fellow to me, along with his bottle, motioning me to a chair, in which I sat stiffly, holding the creature at arms length, worried I might break it. She then chuckled with the complacency such earth-mothers share, that everybody must like babies, and settled him more commodiously in my arms, demonstrating the angle to hold the bottle. When I had recovered from my discomfiture, it was rather pleasant, as the child, who appeared to be of part-Mulatto extraction from his attractive skin tones and shock of thick black hair, sucked determinedly and one tiny hand closed around my fingers. In her element, and rocking to a natural rhythm in her chair, Mrs Whitney fed her own infant, easily telling her story as she did so, for all the world as if reciting a nursery tale to the children.

"Ah, well, Sir, it's wishing that I could give you the names involved, but there's been some proper goin's on here. It's like that book by the American gentleman, _The Prince and the Pauper_, so it is.

"Just to put ye in the picture, so to speak, at any one time, we'll be having six to a dozen babes, from a day old sometimes even up to six months – before they go to the cottage homes, or the scattered homes at Newton Abbot, or the workhouses, or to those willin' to foster. They come to us mostly from the layin'-in houses, where the mother has died in child-bed, but also from the workhouses or houses of correction when the parents have died and there is no family. The Parish pays us for their upkeep, and we make sure they get good nourishin' milk, or we pay women from the village to wet-nurse, not like some of these places ye hear of where they feed the poor angels skimmed milk or whey and watch them waste away.

"It's sad to see, often Sir, the manner in which some of these innocents are treated. The Poor Laws have a lot to answer for when they put so much upon the poor seduced mothers, and made them bring a witness if they want the father to support the child. Ye remember that case of Mrs Waters in Brixton, back in the '70s? A 'course ye do, who doesn't, and a shame on our Good Queen's shores in was, starvin' and murderin' them poor innocent creatures as she did.

"Well, Sir, since '72 all those who take on orphaned or bastard babies are supposed to register, but it's rare it happens. The most we can do is try to make sure no-one's takin' on too many at once for the fees. So imagine how much I blessed my little ones' luck when a young gentleman, dressed in the nicest suit I even seed, an' with the softest hands, came to say he were a go-between for well to do couples who wish for a baby to love, and to adopt for themselves. He had all the registration papers, all right and tight, and he said the babies he chose would be goin' to a good home – a _very _good home. He was ever so careful about which babies he chose – he said he had to have the right _feelin'_ for them, and sometimes he'd come every few days for a month until he felt a baby was right for his clients.

"Once, he brought a young couple to see the babies, and they were dressed in the finest clothes I ever did see. They wanted a newborn to raise as their own, but did not want it gen'rally known – I suppose that's not suprisin' in their circles. We had three newborns at the time, and they chose the bonniest boy. I have to give meself a pinch an' shake sometimes, to think that some of my little ones'll be growing up as some of the finest ladies an' gentlemen of the land. It was four of them over the last nineteen months who've had their fortunes made this way."

Mrs Whitney beamed at me, the unassailability of her babies' sponsors evidently guaranteed in her mind by the fineness of their clothes and the time spent developing a _feeling_ for the children. I, with a natural cynicism, presumed the selection process had been to find those babies who looked healthiest, or most like their "parents"-to-be. I also had seen enough beautifully dressed fiends to be unmoved by finery, and thought grimly to myself that Mary Hall, the lying-in house owner who disposed of the "products" of illegitimacy by feeding them to her cats, had been discovered with £800 in her house alone – enough to buy any number of elegant clothes. However, the matron was probably correct; her charges were most likely safer than they would have been with some of the sinister characters who advertised in the newspapers as being willing to adopt babies for a fee which would not support their nutrition.

I had exposed several of the more nefarious of these organisations myself, and hopefully made London a far more difficult place to practice their vile deeds. However, the government was disinterested and often disinclined to prosecute unless in the most blatant of cases, and where there is desperation and poverty, crime and misery will sprout fresh tentacles as the old ones are cut away. People like Mrs Whitney were a bright beacon in a very black ocean.

"Did you discover by whom this gentleman was hired?" I enquired, not really hoping for the affirmative. The answer I received staggered me.

"I don't know for sure, but I believe he is the steward at Hecate House – do ye know of it?"

It took all my composure to keep my face impassive, as I probed further.

"That is the mansion on the coast in the middle of nowhere, around twenty miles from here, is it not?"

"That's right. They say that Dr Raddison who owns the place is a miracle worker for the gentry if they can't bear children. Perhaps that's how his steward got involved with helpin' couples find babies. They say the Doctor himself is a nasty piece of work, but even such a nice young man as my friend must take such work as he can get. It was my cousin Maud who recognised him. She works at the chandlers in Little Talton, and recognises most members of the household. She says he's pleasant spoken enough, not like his master. She was up here visiting our Aunt Annabel, and had come over to see the babies and lend me a hand when he made a visit."

"Did he acknowledge her?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice and proceed with no more than an air of idle curiosity.

"Didn't see her. I was glad really, as he charged me with keepin' everythin' secret, and it might'a' made him uncomfortable if he'd seed I knew who he was.

"Now," she said, waggling her finger at me, "I'll trust you as a writer to keep names out of these accounts and treat what I've told you with as confidential-like." She spoke with an astonishing trust in the probity of writers in general, seeming to view breaking her vows of secrecy to me as tantamount to confessing to a priest or doctor. She would have loved Watson.

We chattered inconsequentially a little further, until my infant companion had finished his repast, and Mrs Whitney instructed me in how to bring up his wind. I laughed as he responded with an impressive belch. He was then sick on my knee. Despite this insulting behaviour, I thought the little chap rather endearing, and was sorry for his future prospects. On an impulse, as I laid him back in his cot, I withdrew two bank notes (most of my funds for this expedition) and handed them to the good matron.

"The first is for my small friend there – I trust it may help in his upbringing? The second is for the home in general. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Whitney, and to encounter the excellent work you do."

Mrs Whitney was rendered incoherent with gratitude at my gesture, intimating that the money would go a significant way towards enabling a good family to sponsor my new protégé. We parted on excellent terms, she begging me to return at any time. She cheerfully provided me with names of other institutions similar to her own that she considered reputable. I wondered how she would feel if she knew I was expecting to expose the protagonists who had arranged her charges' adoptions as felons of the worst kind.

I did not believe that the steward was working independently, despite his charming manner to Mrs Whitney. I was also intrigued that, in three out of the four adopted children, the steward had collected the babies himself, but in one case, the presumed adoptive parents had come themselves to make a selection. This suggested different tactics, perhaps devised according to Dr Raddison's assessment of the characters of the "parents". Watson's words, that there must be myriad ways to exploit couples desperate for children, came back to me now. Here was another; provide what they wanted, even if his "miracle" treatments failed. All of the children were orphans, with no family, indeed nobody at all, to wonder as to their whereabouts, and all initially provided for in clean and respectable surroundings. I hoped their outcome would be as positive as Mrs Whitney imagined it; however, as I knew from painful personal experience, good clothes and cultured voices did not a happy childhood make.

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_The plot thickens. Raddison does seem to have his fat fingers in a good many pies. Let's hope one of them burns him sooner or later. _

_How did Watson get on with Raddison himself? Let me know with a review if you want to find out! ....or I suppose I'll tell you anyway._

_Couldn't resist the idea of Holmes quite liking babies, once he'd realised which way up they go!_


	15. Chapter 15: Hell Hounds

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 15: Hell Hounds**

I returned to my inn in a thoughtful mood. I made a diversion on my journey, to visit the parish officials and discover where the records of such adoptions may be found. I leafed through the records documenting the pitiful lives of the parish poor, and, little to my surprise, found amongst the records pertaining to children under the care of Mrs Cecelia Whitney only evidence of transfer to other institutions or foster families within the community; no official registration of any more prestigious transfer existed. So much for the steward being thrown in with the unfortunate couples, and helping them independently via legitimate means.

I also paused at the post office, and sent a telegram to Wiggins, my chief Irregular. I gave him a list on two London establishments that Mrs Whitney had mentioned as being reputable – one a lying-in house, and one a foundling establishment like her own. I asked him to extract further gossip from the staff as to whether a well dressed man meeting the steward's description had attended there at any point.

That evening, my companions at the inn were keen to regale me with further tales of the inmates of Hecate House, and I to listen, although I was careful to situate myself next to a large and ugly pot plant, into which I surreptitiously disposed of most of my beverages. It was a simple matter to lead the conversation around to the steward, whose name, I discovered, was James Castling.

Opinion was divided on Castling. The ruddy cheeked landlady described him as "a pleasant boy enough". However, a taciturn fellow nursing a pint of my providing cast a darkling look at me at this, and was happy enough to elaborate quietly to me with a little encouragement.

"Oi trust 'e less than the Darcter. Nasty piece o' work 'e be. Ye heared abahrt woor John Trebuthnot?"

"Was he the youth Dr Raddison hunted with hounds?"

"That be the one. Barely sixteen 'e wur, an' only cloimed inter 'Ecate 'Ouse fer a lark. Them dargs they set on 'im, they loike 'Ell 'Ounds. Now, woor John is a bit speedy on 'is pegs, but, story goes, another lad, a Londoner, were nor so lucky. Ar, it'll never be proven – no evidence see. Dargs et it!"

"No!"

"Yes. Well, John, bein' loike streaked loightnin', managed to get in 'ere. In them all come, all dressed in their foine roidin' boots an' smart coats. **'**Oi don't want no trouble**' **sez David the landlord. **'**Then keep outta moi way**'** answers the Darcter. **'**Ye know what ta do, boys**'** 'e sez ta the gang what's followed 'im, an' they a-grabbed hold a poor John, one 'o them tears 'is shirt off 'is back with a gurt knoife, an' they 'eld 'im ower a table an' struck at 'im with their 'orse whips. Oi were the only one ta stand up an' tell 'em ta leave off.

"Castling 'ad just bin standin' there, quiet loike. The Darcter were just drinkin' a pint, as if nothin' were 'appenin', but Castling, 'e were watchin' loike 'e were watchin' a whore dance, eyes all aloight, an' lickin' 'is lips. When I done stood up, 'e turned ter me, lazy loike, then struck at me with 'is cane. The end were weighted an' sharpened, an' I were knocked out cold, me 'ead cut open. Oi still 'ave the scar."

He showed me a jagged red mark behind his left temple. It must have been a shattering blow.

"They beat John until he was unconscious, an' it were only when the others in 'ere thought 'e were about ter be a-killed did they pull them brutes off. 'E used to be a merry lad, John, but 'e's gone 'alf daft with the froight of it. 'E used ter help me with me nets, and even come out on moi boat now an' then" - I pricked my ears up at the mention of a fisherman's boat – "but 'e's not much use ter anybody now. Jumps at small noises, loike. Scarred too, and 'e were an 'andsome lad ter begin with." He glowered broodingly into his glass. "Wish Oi could get back at that lot" he muttered.

"Maybe you can" I answered, my voice lowered, looking him in the eye, and deliberately discarding the effeminate fussy tones of the author. He noticed, straight away, as I had predicted he would. He was sharp, and he looked at me appraisingly.

"I would like to inspect Raddison's environs from the seaward side. Do you regularly sail your boat in that area?"

"Often enough, Sor" he replied, tonelessly.

"I would be interested in visiting the islet with the stack, half a mile out to sea. Could you get me there?"

"Reckon Oi could. Moight cost yer a morsel." I think he would have agreed anyway, but his eyes brightened as I held up a gold sovereign.

"I would be especially interested in nobody knowing I wish to visit the islet."

"What oislet's that, then, Sor?" replied this splendid fellow.

My routes of espionage thus established, I was able to spend my time in waiting for Watson and Nancy's report still more profitably. My excellent new associate took me out in his boat, and dropped me at my islet the following morning. This outcrop had obviously once formed part of a steep edged peninsular, then an archway, which had now collapsed to leave only a stack about forty feet tall, perched upon the islet base, which was around two hundred yards across.

I climbed the stack, and from this amazingly convenient vantage point was able to conceal myself in a depression in the rocks, and watch the sloping seaward lawn of Hecate House through Watson's field glasses. With a flask and a packet of sandwiches beside me, it was not a wholly unpleasant way of spending a day.

The Hecate dogs were, as I had initially thought, not in evidence on the South lawn. I was able to witness the spectacle of watching Dr Raddison set forth on a large bay horse, flanked by a pack of outsized hounds, and I shivered at the thought of being persued by the beasts, wondering if it were true that they had once tasted human prey. I could not see the garden side of the house, so could not watch my companions. I did have an excellent view of the outhouses, which appeared not to be in use at present. The entrance was on the seaward side, so that it would not be visible from the house.

Another item of great interest to me was found at the base of the cliff. A tiny natural beach stood there, and an old stairway, probably once a smuggler's path, was just visible carved into the rocks. It looked as if I had found my clandestine way in.

My associate collected me from the lee side of my islet at the end of his day, and I returned to the railway station the following morning, feeling that my case was building, and eagerly anticipating hearing what Watson and Nancy had to say. I saw them arrive at the station, conveyed in the smart barouche, and they sat opposite me in the waiting room. There were several other occupants, unfortunately, so I could not converse with them. Nancy sat, magnificently impassive, but Watson fidgeted and met my eyes several times, his obvious desire to indulge both his curiosity and his raconteur instincts writ large upon his face.

It was going to be a long journey.

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_Watson and Nancy obviously have some news to impart, and I think Holmes is planning something. Update will proceed soon. Just a leeetle review, pleeease?_

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	16. Chapter 16: A sumptuous confinement

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 16: A sumptuous confinement **

I had advised Watson and Nancy to repair to Claridges in their disguise before restoring their old personas and returning to Baker Street. I did not think it likely that Raddison would tail them after they left, but too much paranoia is preferable to too little in my line of work, and there was also Watson's acting skill to be considered. I had reserved them a room, and left simple disguises for them both – bowler hat and false beard for Watson, with a more ordinary suit of clothes, and a copper wig for Nancy

The former Sir and Lady Hamish arrived back at Baker Street forty minutes after I did, and I was waiting for them in my dressing gown, smoking my pipe and enjoying a glass of cognac that would not strip wallpaper.

"Aha, my companions in arms! How was your mission?" I greeted them.

"Quite informative, Holmes. And disturbing" Watson replied, peeling off the false beard, his countenance still striking me as strange without its moustache.

"I'll say" agreed Nancy. "Give us a peck of that cognac, Sherry. I've been gasping all weekend. I never thought I'd be having to play the delicate flower who mustn't drink alcohol to help her attain a yet more delicate condition."

"Do you want cognac, or sherry?"

"Oh shut up and pour, or I'm not talking." She threw herself down rather dramatically upon the sofa with a sigh of contentment at spreading out and shedding her ladylike poise. I handed both my accomplices a glass. Nancy took a generous swig of hers, and I somewhat astonished myself by my sudden impulse to ask her if she ought, in her condition. I presume she had not informed Watson, or he would be even less sanguine.

"Right. Shall I start, Sir Hamish?" she asked, and receiving the nod from Watson, continued.

"I don't know if you've had a good look at Hecate yourself, Sherry, but it's a lonely sort of place, steep cliffs in one direction, and empty fields as far as the eye can see in all others.

"It's a grand old house, and I can see the gentry morts being suitably impressed by it. Sort of glows in the sunshine. I think that's the main thing that stops it looking like a prison, 'cause otherwise, surrounded as it is on all sides by this monolithic grey wall with broken glass on top, it looks harder to get in and out of than Newgate. The way in's through a massive spiked iron gate with a lock you'd need to be Hercules to pick. There's a mighty spruce chap on the gate, who was expecting us, and who let us in, very mannerly like, but insisted on seeing our faces before he did.

"Next, it's rolling down this long tree lined avenue in the barouche, and a pack of evil half wild dogs came racing out, snarling and looking like they'd like nothing better than Sir and Lady Hamish for their dinner. They obviously knew the coachman, as he shouted at them and off they slunk, but only so far, and still growling. I'd've hated to be there on my own.

"The coachman then warned us that the dogs were particularly savage, and were there to ward off intruders, but that they were nothing compared to Raddison's hunting hounds."

"I think he took a certain pride in telling us" chipped in Watson, grimly. "It's not a nice household, Holmes. How Raddison can be allowed to ride around the open countryside with a pack of dogs that might well eat any unfortunate rambler or angler they encounter, is beyond me. I suppose it helps that he owns such an enormous swath of countryside all around the house."

"Wealth may excuse any manner of sins" I philosophised. "Pray continue your narrative, my friends."

"The house itself is a flat 'C' shape" resumed Nancy "with a middle portion, and two side-wings. The side wings are the guest accommodation, and have walled gardens built off them, each apartment with its own private garden only accessible from there. They're pretty enough, but it's still a bit claustrophobic when you're confined there. But I'm racing ahead too fast.

"We were shown into the house by one of the most magnificent butlers I've ever seen. Looked like a stuffed partridge, spoke like a Lord. He led us to a pretty little anteroom, chintzy armchairs, various knick-knacks, vase of flowers on the table and what-not. A pretty, fluffy thing came tripping in, and took our names. She then fetched a thick ledger, entered our names into it, and asked us to sign it."

"She was careful not to allow us a glimpse of any of the other pages, and we had a page to ourselves, but our names were towards the back" chimed in Watson, watching me furtively to see how this tit-bit of news struck me. It would have been cruel to disappoint him.

"That ledger would be a highly informative object," I mused. "I would imagine it contains the names of all those who have passed through Hecate House's portals, and it would be most interesting to see what has become of them since they did."

"It was in a locked cupboard in the anteroom" said Nancy. She then grinned, a particularly mischievous expression that usually heralded trouble for somebody. "I thought maybe you might like a peep of it some time, so I got you these." She emptied her dainty reticule onto the table, and out fell four pieces of putty, clearly imprinted with the mark of a key. "I know you're dead handy with a lock pick, but I thought having a key would be more dignified. Now all you've got to do is figure out a way of getting past those dogs!"

"Nancy!" ejaculated Watson, half-shocked, half-admiring. "How on earth did you obtain those?"

"Come on, John, you remember."

Watson furrowed his brow for a moment, then his expression cleared. "You stumbled in the anteroom, and knocked the keys onto the floor, and then you bent down to pick them up. You were blushing, and apologising."

"Yep. I had the putty in my glove. I always think it's good to be prepared in these situations. The other key is for the front door. I picked the butler's pocket when I noticed he smelt of port. Expensive port, of course."

"That's my girl!" I exclaimed, delighted, adjusting my expression back to neutral as Watson looked rather sharply at me.

"You did train me yourself, after all" she said, demurely.

"Quite. So when did you meet the elusive Dr Raddison?"

"He came in as soon as we had signed our names in the ledger, and greeted us most cordially. He ushered us through to his private consulting room, which is upstairs in the centre wing. It is another exceedingly comfortable room, flawlessly designed to set a nervous patient at their ease, and perfectly complimenting his bedside manner, which is excellent" Watson stated.

"It most certainly is" agreed Nancy. "Miss Rangaford must be very perceptive to see past the geniality of his manner – I'd never've noticed the coldness of his eyes if I hadn't been looking for it. His voice is marvellously modulated and soothing" she added, with the considered appraisal of the professional actress. Watson took over the tale.

"First, he went over the 'rules' of Hecate House, for such they must be considered. He explained rather apologetically that we must agree to keep to our private quarters, unless we are asked to move elsewhere by the staff. He was most insistent upon that point, saying that, due to the sensitive nature of the consultations, most of his patients prefer to remain in the strictest anonymity. We were welcome to stroll in our gardens whenever we chose, but the front of the house was rendered dangerous by the dogs, whilst the rear of the house was also out of bounds., apparently because there are experimental plants growing there that require a strict habitat.

"If we wished to take a hack around the countryside, he would provide horses, but would ask that we took a groom with us, as he claimed some of the ground roundabouts was treacherous."

"More likely to prevent any gossiping with the locals" I muttered darkly, and Watson looked at me with interest, then continued.

"There was a music room, an extensive library, a gymnasium, and even a steam room and cold plunge pool, although we must arrange to visit these in advance. Every suite was supplied with drawing materials and any periodicals could be delivered on request."

"In short, it was set up like the poshest hotel you ever saw, but run stricter than a young ladies' seminary" interrupted Nancy. "It made you feel pampered, but controlled, and predisposed to respond to suggestions obediently. I'd imagine that in that atmosphere, it mightn't have struck your poor little dupe as odd to neither see nor speak to her husband whilst they made the beas... whilst they exchanged marital relations."

Watson nodded his agreement, politely oblivious to Nancy's near slip.

"There was something cloying about it.

"Raddison bade us refresh ourselves after our journey, and suggested deferring our first clinical consultation until the next morning. He was not in any hurry, and we were lavishly looked after. This did lull into a sense of security, which I'd imagine made his patients more inclined to spill their innermost secrets when he asked them to."

"And he certainly asks them to" asserted Nancy.

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_A very genteel prison. What goes on inside, though? You won't have long to find out, as the next chapter should be up! Please read and review – thank you thank you thank you!_


	17. Chapter 17: What the Doctor saw

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 17: What the Doctor Saw**

Watson nodded emphatically at Nancy's words.

"Indeed. The questions Raddison asked did seem designed to plumb the depths, and gain a measure of the clients he is serving."

"What was the subject of these questions?"

"Very varied" Watson responded. "It began in a casual enough manner. How did we meet? What interests did we have in common? It then gradually began to stray into the personal. What were our particular passions? What did we consider our greatest weaknesses (he wanted us to answer for ourselves, and each other)? What were our strengths?"

"After a while, it was clear this was a thorough assessment of our characters" mused Nancy. "He had a number of hypothetical situations. What would we do in this situation, in that, in the other. With a critical eye, it was obvious that the purpose was to ascertain how strongly traits like dominance, obedience, suggestibility, gullibility were marked. At the time, his approach was so kind yet clinical, you'd never've realised there was anything fishy going on.

"There were also practical aspects. Who had charge of the finances, who owned what, who took on which responsibilities around the house. He was trying to find the money, I s'pose. How much was there sloshing around? Who was the right person to squeeze?"

"That is interesting" I interrupted. "Mrs Emily Rangaford would have sat through one of these sessions, and she and husband George would have answered questions on their own finances. Do you recall, Watson, how Miss Rangaford told us George was always trying to make Emily take charge of the household. Such men are predictable, and I think therein lies Raddison's first mistake. George would have assured him that Emily took charge of the finances, because it suited his vanity to display his wife in this light. However, I am certain he would never have allowed Emily sufficient autonomy to not check her accounts tallied. Emily must have known that any sums of income devolved to Raddison would have been detected by George. She therefore felt she had no choice but to flee."

"I think you may have hit on it, Holmes. It was a grave mistake to not consider the possibility of mendacious patients – several of mine fabricate constantly.

"Now, you wanted the medical perspective. The medical questions were included in the same interview – cleverly done, as it made the entire consultation more naturalistic. And they were highly personal, Holmes. I must say, Nancy kept her countenance admirably, as they were of an embarrassing nature.

"Before I set off on this venture, I ensured I was fully acquainted with the latest research in this field, and I am convinced Raddison has considerable knowledge and expertise. It is a tragedy he has chosen to abuse his abilities in such a way, as I feel he could have done a great deal of good in the world.

"His questioning largely pertained to our marital habits."

I could see Watson was about to grow hot under the collar, so I facilitated the topic.

"You mean your methods and regularity of copulation?"

"Holmes! Must you be so direct?" he spluttered glancing at Nancy, who burst out laughing. Some of his constraint dissipating at her obvious mirth, he continued.

"Yes. He wished to assess our understanding of the act itself. He had diagrams, detailing the anatomy of the male and female internal and external genitalia. He asked us what we understood regarding the mechanics, and if we understood, um, what went where. He asked us about...uh... pleasure... orgasm... such like.

"He also questioned us regarding the timing of our relations. How many times a week, did we achieve completion, what did we do before and afterwards. It was fortuitous in a way, as I'm sure most of his clients spend a long time contemplating their feet, and it meant my lack of talents of dissimulation were unlikely to be noted."

"I take it you were in the role of an ingénue?"

"To some extent. Woefully ignorant of how the act leads to the result, considering the woman's role to be entirely passive, but not a bumpkin in other aspects. We wished to see how he coped with a pair of sexual idiots who were otherwise difficult to hoodwink. I felt it would better allow me to assess his medical capabilities, which is one of the few things I feel able to add to your investigation that you could not do better yourself."

"This is admirable, Watson! I shall be fascinated to hear your impressions of the man later. However, for now, please continue with your narrative."

"That about concludes the consultations as a couple."

"Oh, you're forgetting the interesting bit!" struck in Nancy, and I realised she had got to a point of the tale which made even her blush. "He educated us as to the possibility of the act being enjoyable, and suggested we read the texts in our room, which gave us a great many tips as to how to make it so. His own adaptation of the _Kama Sutra_, I believe, which I shall _not _believe you gents have never heard of. Scandalous, yet _so_ tastefully done! John was bright red, but you couldn't tear your eyes away, could you?" Watson snorted with indignation, and attempted to continue the story as if he had not heard.

"He then interviewed us separately. Perhaps Nancy would like to give you her impressions first, then we can allow her to make her escape."

"Kind of you, John. My better half has promised a meal at Giovanni's tonight, and I should not like to be late.

"My interview was initially a reiteration of the questions he had already asked in front of you. I expect many women lie to their husbands. He wanted to know about the regularity of my monthly cycles, the age at which they began, any associated symptoms. Had I experienced any irregularities or miscarriages?

"He asked about previous congress with anyone apart from my husband – in strictest confidence, of course, but, my God! What blackmail material for a start.

"He asked if I enjoyed the experience with my husband. Did I experience pain or bleeding during or afterwards?

"He asked about skin disease, problems with vision, discharge from the private area, pain or odour on urination..."

"All symptoms of venereal disease" chipped in Watson.

"He asked if I kept any secrets from my husband" continued Nancy, a grim tone creeping in to her voice. "He asked if I felt I _could_ keep secrets from my husband, if it was for a higher cause. He asked to what extent I would be prepared to bend the normal rules of society for a baby. It all seemed so friendly, as if he was just getting me to express myself. I am glad I took on a character, or I should have spilled my real soul.

"He spoke about examining me. I confess I bridled and blushed, as I did not fancy giving the fat old villain a free peepshow. He noticed my hesitation, and declared the examination could easily be deferred – may as well see if the treatments work first, he added.

"When he had concluded my interview, he thanked me and dismissed me. He had written down what I told him, and I deliberately left my reticule behind as I left. I returned for it in a few moments, and found he had entered a room behind his office. The door was heavy, and through it I could see four large filing cabinets, all locked, and he was adding my notes to one of them. He jumped as he saw me return, and lost his calm for a moment – I saw a horrid look in his eye, like he would like to strangle me, but he made a quick recover, and shut and locked the door behind him. Not a chance of getting the key there, I'm afraid, but I have a real feeling there are more secrets in that room than in Aladdin's Cave.

"All I really have to add is what John can also tell you – that Raddison met with both of us again the next day, after he had had time to 'analyse our data'. He gave me a tonic to drink" – she fished the pretty glass bottle out of her reticule – "which he assures me is made with a revolutionary concoction of herbs which will enhance my fecundity. Before giving it to me, he was careful I understood it increased my likelihood of bearing twins, such was its potency. He advised us on a schedule for our exploits.

"He had arranged to see us again in a month, but I do not think that will be possible. I will not be able to convince him I do not realise my condition by this point, so I think I bow out here. It's been a pleasure working with you John. And you, Sherry, of course.

"Do finish Raddison off for me, won't you?"

She stood as she finished this speech, and I stood also, surprised by the faint ache in my chest that was reminding me this was the end of an era – the last case I was likely to work on with Nancy Harrison. Watson was looking puzzled, and I assumed she had not informed him of her pregnancy, for fear his chivalry should make him antagonistic to her participation in our investigations.

I felt suddenly awkward, as if I had not known the lady standing before me for the last twenty years, and in a very intimate fashion. My voice sounded distant as I spoke.

"I must most sincerely thank you, Nancy, for your assistance in this matter. I understand what a concession this has been on your behalf, and, believe me, your participation has been vital. I will crush this monster. Thank you, my dear."

Nancy seemed to have caught my awkwardness, as for a moment, she seemed tongue-tied, for the first time in all our years, and even looked as if she were about to shake my hand. Then, she was Nancy again, and she threw her arms around me, and I returned the embrace. We pulled apart, and she was walking out of Baker Street, and out of my life. I tried not to feel empty.

When Nancy had left, I sternly instructed that Watson should proceed with his side of the story. He was looking at me in patent astonishment at my farewell to Nancy, and I did not wish to enter into explanations, now, or at any other time. He recalled himself to himself, and (probably, I must confess, out of deference to what he considered my feelings must be) continued.

"There is not much more to tell, Holmes. Only that Raddison truly _seems_ an expert, and that I _expect_ his knowledge of the female ovulatory cycle is accurate. However, the advice he gave us regarding our scheduling would have just missed the female ovulation for the first month – in other words, we would be _avoiding_ the period of maximum fertility. He tells us he will alter our schedule at our next consultation. His purpose in prolonging our consultation time must be to increase his fee, which was extortionate!

"As to the rest, I suspect the potion of being a placebo, to give confidence. There are theorists who suggest that if the woman is relaxed and enjoying her role, the chance of conception is improved, hence the informative guidance in our room. When he has milked us, then I suspect we are to be one of his success stories.

"His history taking covered many of the causes of infertility, amongst both men and women. The questions he asked me were similar to those he asked Nancy, although he asked about Onanism and nocturnal emissions, and suggested I avoid the former around the time scheduled for marital relations – all fairly sound advice." He was doing very well at speaking briskly and clinically, as if he were discussing nothing more embarrassing than dandruff or hangnails.

"He is obviously also well up upon the modern research into spermatozoa, and how examination under the microscope can reveal poor motility leading to infertility." He cleared his throat.

"He wished for a... er... sample."

"Oh, Good Lord! Did you provide one?"

"Thank you, Holmes, I prefer not to answer that. I will say he is well set up for collecting such samples. He has a private room, with a disgraceful supply of literature to 'assist proceedings', as he put it." This information was a little much to digest, so I changed the subject.

"Did you get a glimpse of this chamber of secrets with the filing cabinets?"

"No. The door was locked; I was opposite it and could see the bar across the gap between wall and door."

"I would love to get at that room Watson. However, I understand it is right in the inner sanctum?"

"Yes. I shall draw you a map of the parts of the house I have seen."

"That would be most helpful. It sounds as if the ledger is in a somewhat more accessible area?"

"Well, if any part of the house can be said to be impregnable."

"I think perhaps it may be from the seaward direction."

"You seem to have some knowledge of the layout, Holmes. Have you discovered anything yourself?"

I thought of the tales of violent assault and suspected murder, and of babies crying in the night. I thought of Mrs Whitney, and the disappearance of her 'adopted' babies. I thought of my valuable ally with his fishing boat, and my surveillance of the house from the islet. I thought of the loathing with which the local folk discussed Raddison, and yet how fear must overcome it, as they continued to tolerate his presence.

"Yes, you could say I have found something out. I you are agreeable, I shall fill you in on our journey."

"Journey, Holmes?"

"Yes, tomorrow night, if you are agreeable. In the meantime, I must analyse the contents of this interesting potion you have been given, and remove the black colouration from your hair. It would not do if you were to be too recognisable.

"You see, _I want to see that ledger_, Watson. Just think of how much our research would be aided if we only had the names of all Raddison's customers. Are you up for a little danger?"

"But of course!"

"So, prepare yourself for a little illegality in a good cause, and clean your service revolver. Tomorrow night, we break into Hecate House."

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_Beware of the dogs! Beware of the people too. I expect Hecate House holds some nasty surprises...._

_Apologies for the slightly slow updates, but these last two chapters really took some work. It should be easy from now on – faster updates, I promise! (They might be even faster if I get a few more reviews)_

_For those of you waiting for a bit more involvement from Violet Hunter, she's back again soon, I promise._

_Things are soon going to get interesting...._


	18. Chapter 18: Assault by sea

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 18: Assault by sea **

The rest of that day, I made my preparations. I sent a telegram to my fisherman friend, informing him I would require his services, and asking him to hire me a small rowing boat.

I took Nancy's wax impressions to a locksmith I knew to have an unsuspicious mind, obtaining a promise they would be ready later that day.

I made an inventory of my own little burglary kit, and took my diamond glass cutter and my metal saw to another associate, who had previously dabbled as a fence, and could thus be trusted to be obliging, asking him to ensure they were well-honed.

I cleaned and blacked my dark-lantern, so no powerful smell would give us away.

I fetched my small canvas tent from the attic, and inspected its condition, which was satisfactory. I also unearthed the black silk masks Watson had once made for us.

I then had some purchases to make. I bought a small hamper and food both fresh and dried to stock it. I bought a large piece of bright orange cloth, about two yards square. I bought two navy Guernseys, with oiled woollen fibres, and two cheap black woollen overcoats. Unlike when we had broken into the house of the late unlamented Charles Augustus Milverton, we did not need to disguise ourselves as respectable theatre-goers, and I was not prepared to risk our best tailoring on this potentially scrambling adventure.

I added two thick and two thin blankets for our expedition, as experience had taught me not to risk the wrath of Mrs Hudson in removing such articles from her house.

I also visited my friend Sherman in Pinchin Lane, to borrow an item from him I thought might just come in useful.

Dusk was falling as I returned, and Watson wore signs of impatience – the scattering of ash upon the floor revealed he had been both smoking heavily and pacing, the dark hair falling over his brow bore ample signs of fingers torn repeatedly through it.

I fetched the offensive smelling compound I would need to remove the colouration from his hair, and set about restoring him to normalcy. I have no doubt he would have fired questions at me about Raddison and Hecate House, even from his position of being stripped to waist and bent over a basin at the table, if the fumes from the chemical had not forced him to hold his breath.

Both our eyes were watering and we were coughing by the time I finished, but he was his normal fair colouration again. I had warned him not to shave, and, as his beard grew quickly, I had no doubt that anyone catching a casual glance at him during our activities would not recognise him as the debonair baronet.

As Watson repaired, still coughing, to take a bath and scrub away the foul smelling liquid, I set about analysing the potion Nancy had been given. Watson returned, clean, damp and tousled, during my researches. I repelled his attempts at distracting me by the simple method of ignoring him, and eventually he stomped off to bed in frustration.

Some hours later, I straightened my stiff back and neck. The potion was a simple compound of common herbs, water, and honey. No doubt highly nutritious, with the honey lending it a subconscious reminder of fertility, but completely inert. I confess, I had suspected I might find some active ingredient in it, perhaps even something that would be found to suppress fertility, but I suppose the man or woman who invents such a panacea would be richer than Raddison could ever hope to become by mere blackmail.

I had not eaten all day, so I crept down to the kitchen to fetch some bread and cold meat. I packed my equipment and changed my clothing for a simple set of country tweeds. By now, the first sickly light of dawn was rising over the blackly outlined London skyline.

I then went to rouse Watson. He groaned loudly on my shaking him awake, and glared at me, bleary eyed and resentful, as he sat up and realised what the time was.

"For Heaven's sake, Holmes! Could you not have told me you intended to set off at this Godforsaken time in the bloody morning last night, instead of ignoring me?"

"It would have made little difference to the time you retired. Besides, you would have slept no better. Really Watson, you really should learn some self discipline, and how to turn your mind off. I would have thought you would be used enough to our little adventures by this time to not spend the entire night tossing and turning like a flea-ridden walrus!"

This comment, naturally, did nothing to endear me to Watson, and he grumbled heartily as he dressed. I sat on his bed, to prevent him deciding to return to it.

One of Watson's best points is he is quick and efficient at getting ready. He had packed already, and he was soon clothed. He delayed us no further than it took to splash some water on his face and clean his teeth, and then we were drawing on our new cheap overcoats, gathering our bags and setting out into the pink-tinged dawn.

A hansom delivered us to Paddington station, and we boarded the early train to Exeter, whence we would change for Little Talton. At first, Watson was too puffy-eyed to display much curiosity, but a cup of strong hot coffee from the flask I had thought to bring with me did much to revive him.

"So why the unmentionably early start, Holmes?" he asked, the steam curling about his face as he blew on the liquid.

"I want to catch the tide."

"The tide?"

"Yes, the tide. However, you are lulling me into your own habit of telling a story backwards. Allow me to start at the beginning. I believe you have been somewhat anxious to learn my news?" I asked, glancing at him mischievously from beneath my eyelashes.

"Just a little" he answered, his eyes twinkling in response.

"Very well. Allow me to fill you in."

I then told him of my own investigations in Devon. Watson is always a good audience. He is happily surprised by every fresh development, ruining little by pre-empting it, and reacting in a satisfyingly amazed fashion. He was aghast at the treatment of the young John Trebuthnot, appalled at the suspicion an unidentified soul may have perished at the hands of the dogs, anxious about the implications of the disappearing babies. I told him all that I had learned, and moved on to my acquaintance with the fisherman.

"He obviously has a grudge against Raddison and his men, after they laid his face open and assaulted his friend so brutally, and he has agreed to help me. He is to procure us a rowing boat, and convey us and our craft to the small islet outside Hecate's grounds. We shall travel out with him upon the tide, at which time he usually begins his fishing expeditions, so no suspicion will be aroused.

"We shall then pass the day on the islet. There is a sheltered cove on the lee side of the island. We shall be snug enough with our Guernseys and overcoats, and if the weather is a little fresh after the sun has set, we shall have pitched our tent within, and can take shelter under our blankets. I have packed provisions, as I know you do not like to miss your meals.

"In the early hours of the morning, we shall board our craft, and row to the foot of the cliffs beneath Hecate House. I could clearly see a path leading up to the woods behind it – we will thus avoid both the wall and the dogs, and can begin our offensive.

"I hope it will be fairly straightforward. The first step is obtaining a look at that ledger. I have included notepads and pencils, to copy down the names. I feel we should not attempt to gain entrance to the filing cabinets of the inner sanctum on this first assault – too risky. Rather, I can send the names to Mycroft, and discover what has become of them.

"We shall then return to our boat, and make a subtle exit. With luck, nobody will realise we have been there at all. My fisherman will pick us up if I tie a large orange cloth to the lee side of the island. We may choose to repeat the invasion when we have the information back from Mycroft.

"Any suspicious circumstances – particularly unexpected deaths – will help direct our next investigations. The trouble with blackmailers like Raddison is that exposing them may also lead to the exposure of his victims, with unpleasant consequences. Murder is a lot more straightforward, and the victims do not tend to complain when it is revealed. If I can obtain proof of just one murder, it will be enough to crush this parasite."

"It is an admirable plan" cried Watson. "I see only one difficulty – what if Raddison plans to expose his victims as vengeance once he has been arrested?"

"It is a good question" I acknowledged, "although it is not the _only_ possible difficulty I can envisage. In answer, I suggest it will be more difficult for him to carry out his threats from a gaol cell. His gang are also likely to be less vigilant if their necks are threatened, and I rather think the destruction of the rest of his papers may be possible."

The train rattled on, making rapid progress, and we were shaking hands with my fisherman in good time.

By lunchtime, we were on the islet, and Watson was making substantial depredations into our food basket. The time passed merrily enough, as Watson, well accustomed to long and tiresome waits when engaged on work of this kind, had thought to bring a pack of cards, and we gambled recklessly with pebbles from the beach.

A tension settled over us as night time fell and our mission drew nearer. Finally, it was time to climb into the small rowing boat, take up our oars, and head for Hecate House.

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_The assault begins – will it succeed? _

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	19. Chapter 19: Thieves in the night

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 19: Thieves in the night**

Our small boat ran aground at the base of the cliffs. Removing our shoes and stockings, we prepared to jump ashore. I tucked the little package from Sherman carefully into the inside pocket of my overcoat before we did so.

"What's that Holmes?" whispered Watson, seeing it.

"Secret weapon" I breathed in his ear, grinning. The moonlight was sufficient to illuminate him rolling his eyes.

The water was cold, despite the time of year, as our feet slipped upon the rocks. I skinned my toes, and it was tricky to drag the boat aground without making too much noise, but we managed it. We replaced our footwear, and set off up the cliffside path.

It was surprisingly easy. It told me that, despite Raddison's cunning planning of his schemes, he was careless about details; the downfall of many an otherwise impeccable criminal.

We stood at the top of the cliff, two highly disreputable figures in black and navy, black silk masks over our faces. Cautiously, we edged our way through the woods. When we emerged on the lawn, I dropped onto my stomach, and motioned Watson to do the same. The ground was gently undulating, and we followed the shadows.

We were then leaning against the rear wall of the house. We had the key to the front door, but of course, the dogs prowled that side of the building. I leaned in to Watson and whispered in his ear –

"Give me a bunk up onto the garden wall."

Watson obeyed, and I pulled him up behind me. Raddison had not wished to put broken glass atop this wall; it would have been offensive to his exclusive clients. Catlike, we crawled on all fours along the wall, passing each individual garden. This seemed the most dangerous part; we were very exposed. However, we made it to the corner nearest the front door, and I could see the dark shadows of the dogs from the lofty vantage point, as yet unaware of our presence. I waited for the nearest to wander some distance off, and then softly dropped to the ground.

We crept the few yards to the front door. I hoped the front door would not be bolted, as I would prefer not to spend the extra time replacing any pane of glass I cut out to gain ingress. Fortunately, the door was not bolted. No doubt Raddison considered his other extensive security arrangements sufficient. It is a lesson every householder should learn; no sophisticated security arrangements are as effective as the humble internal bolt.

Holding my breath, I placed my duplicate key in the lock. I turned it silently, and could not repress a hiss of triumph as it turned. Mentally congratulating Nancy, I oiled the hinges, and pushed the door open. We stepped inside.

Watson had shown me his map of Hecate House, so I knew to turn left and follow the corridor along, three door down. This should be the reception room. Again, I oiled the hinges, and noiselessly opened the door.

Watson motioned me towards the filing cabinet, nodding. I could feel the intense excitement thrumming from him, as it usually did when we were engaged in something illegal.

Nancy's wax duplicates had again done their work well, as the filing cabinet opened easily to my key. My own heart was hammering as I withdrew the precious ledger, and opened my dark lantern a crack to illuminate it. Watson kept guard, whilst I rapidly copied down the names and addresses in the ledger. One or two of them made me softly whistle; there certainly were some illustrious clients here.

There were upwards of two hundred names in the ledger, dating back four and a half years. Raddison had been busy.

Finally, I reached the last name – "Sir Hamish Gosford and Lady Maria Gosford, Baronet", with their direction recorded underneath. I closed the book, and replaced it, locking the cabinet behind me and shutting up my dark lantern. Watson and I then crept back to the front door.

I couldn't help but gaze longingly at the wide staircase, knowing what treasures lay atop it, but a wise gamester knows when not to play his hand. This venture had gone so smoothly, it would threaten the information I _had_ obtained if I took unnecessary risks. We therefore continued to the front door, and, when the dogs were out of the way, stepped outside, relocked the door, climbed atop the garden wall again, and made our way back whence we had came.

We made our way back across the lawn with no-one to accost us. As we entered the copse, I looked at the looming bulk of the two silent outhouses, situated at opposite ends of the grounds, and it occurred to me that there may well be something of interest within.

"I should like a quick look at the outhouses before we go. Do you keep an eye out for the dogs, Watson! If I take the larger, perhaps you will cast your eye over the smaller" I whispered is his ear. Watson nodded his agreement.

I reached the larger of the two outhouses, and silently circled it. I pulled myself up to peer in the windows. One room, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, boasted a large fireplace, a rocking chair, and a cot. Another room appeared to be a storeroom. I could make out shapes of mechanical equipment. As my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out the concertinaed edge of a camera box with its leather shroud. I was satisfied that what I had found so far tended to corroborate Emily Rangaford's story.

I dropped lightly back to the ground, ready to make my way back to Watson and return to the boat.

The next moment the peaceful night ear was rent by a piercing cry of pain and alarm, followed by raised and jeering voices.

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_This sounds bad! Is Watson hurt, or was it somebody else who cried out? Read on to find out._

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	20. Chapter 20:Gang Aft Agley

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 20: ...Gang Aft Agley**

Icy fear crawling up my spine, I inched my way back via where I had left Watson to the smaller outhouse. He was not there, but there was blood splattered upon the grass. There were the footprints of at least six other men, and two long, intermittently broken parallel lines, where a man had undoubtedly been dragged, kicking and struggling. Crawling on my belly, as silently as I was able, I followed the trail. They appeared to be dragging him towards the house.

I flattened myself and froze as I heard voices, and two of Raddison's men passed nearby. It required all my skill to avoid exposure, as the entire household seemed to have awakened, and my progress was necessarily slow; agonisingly so, as I longed to race to Watson's side. I sternly stifled my imagination, which was beginning to generate all manner of foul suppositions.

Something metallic was glimmering in the moonlight ahead of me. It was Watson's revolver, and I wondered if he had dropped it deliberately, knowing he would not be granted an opportunity to use it. I picked it up and tucked it into my jacket. I would not shrink from using it if I found Watson seriously hurt.

The footprints suddenly took a change in direction. I assumed his captors had intended to take him up to the house, but they had changed their minds – perhaps their master did not like to be wakened at this time of night, perhaps they thought there may well be patients in residence. Their destination was now obviously the rear of the largest outhouse, near where I had just come from. I cursed that I had taken a secretive and circuitous route; had I not, I might have apprehended them as our paths crossed.

I discovered that Raddison's men had locked the outhouse door behind them. Praying it was not bolted from within, I withdrew my lock pick, and started work on the tumblers, the gentle grating noise in the silent night sounding to my sensitised ears like a boulder rolling down a cliff. It was a good quality lock, and sweat began to trickle in a cold stream down my back and my forehead. I could barely hear voices within, but the walls were thick.

_Click!_

The first tumbler was in place, and I held it there, probing for the second. My fingers were cramping, and I was convinced someone would appear over my shoulder at any point, but the first stage was always the most difficult.

_Click!_

There was the second part of the puzzle complete. A sudden, harsh scream rent the air, and I almost dropped the pick. My hands began to tremble, and I forced them still.

_Click!_

Almost there. A little more patience. Watson must have been in there with them for at least twenty minutes now.

_Another scream_.

I was suddenly finding it difficult to see the lock pick in my hands. Must be sweat in my eyes.

_Click!_

The lock was open. Holding my breath, I slowly and noiselessly eased the door open.

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_Oh no! Poor Watson! Hurry up and rescue him, Holmes, it sounds as if something awful is happening to him!_

_Read on, and see if Holmes manages to get the doctor out before he is treated in the same way as John Trebuthnot, the boy who was never the same again!_

_Oh, and please review...._

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	21. Chapter 21: Confessionem esse veram

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 21: ****Confessionem esse veram**

There was nobody standing guard in the passageway. I slipped inside, keeping to the shadows, and softly closed the door behind me. With a coldly sickening feeling, I heard a low moaning from towards the end of the corridor. A hard, cold, but well-spoken voice struck up.

"Now, forgive me if I still don't believe you, Matey. Gents who've got lost fishing don't usually turn up here at three in the morning. So perhaps you might like to think...."

"_No! NO_!"

"...about telling me the truth. Hold him, Lads!" There was suddenly a horrible hissing sound, and another anguished scream as I crept down the corridor.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" wailed a familiar voice suddenly, and began speaking very rapidly, barely pausing for breath.

"I'll tell you the truth, I'm a doctor, my name's Edmund Daley, I specialise in herbs and pharmaceuticals, my practise is on the rocks, years of study amounting to nothing, I'm at my wits' end, my creditors are hovering like vultures, I've had to pretend I've left the country, and I thought, if I could only see what Dr Raddison is _growing_ in these gardens of his, with my skills, it would give me a clue as to how he does it, how he cures barren women, and I could start again, make my fortune, with a new name, in a new town. Please, I meant no harm, I was desperate – NO!"

For a brief moment, I had been lost in admiration of Watson's clever cover story, and his _acting_! I had never heard Watson act convincingly before, but the sharp, frightened ejaculation brought me back to my senses, as it dawned on me he probably wasn't acting at all. He was genuinely afraid for his life. I have to get him out of there, I thought frantically.

They were beyond the door at the end of the corridor – I assumed it was a large room spanning the width of the building. I peered through the keyhole. I could not see Watson, but there were two men standing with their back against the wall. Then there had to be the man doing the speaking, and the "Lads" to whom he referred: at least two, presumably. Too many to take on, even with Watson's revolver.

The cold voice broke into a harsh, unpleasant laugh.

"Can't stand the heat, eh, _Doctor_ Daley? You should keep out of the kitchen garden then, shouldn't you?" He roared with laughter at his own witticism, and several of the others joined in sycophantically, one crowing;

"Nice one, Mr Castling".

So this was James Castling, who had cut open my helpful fisherman's head, and watched in enjoyment as young John Trebuthnot was beaten to a bloody pulp. His voice hardened further.

"Well, I call it a bloody cheek. Sneaking around, stealing other's work – shut up! We have ways of dealing with spies here. Show him what we mean, boys. Tan his hide for him."

There were scuffling sounds, then a sudden _swoosh-crack!_ - and a stifled grunt of pain. They were horsewhipping my friend!

I would require a diversion, and quickly. I darted into the nest room, that facing towards the house. As quietly as I could, I inched open the window, wincing each time I heard the sharp report of the whip, and the increasingly loud cries that followed it, and I drew my secret weapon from my pocket.

It was a dog whistle.

Leaning out, I gave one long, loud blast, with all my strength. It was silent to my ears, but there was suddenly a distant mighty baying from the dogs at the front of the house. They heard it in the next room, and the laughter and jeering quieted. Then I heard Castling exclaim -

"There must be someone else about! Conrad, Bert, Alf, with me, we'll get over there, quickly, see what the dogs've got hold of, if there's anything left of him! Dave and Dan, truss this one up tight and get after us, we'll have the full bag!"

He was shouting this last over his shoulder as he raced down the corridor. I held my breath, holding the revolver at the ready, in case he should notice that the door was unlocked. Mercifully, he was too intent upon the chase, and I heard the sound of their retreating footsteps, and shouts outside, whilst grunts came from the end room. A rough voice said;

"Tha'll keep ye from foightin', _Darcter_! Now, ye stay there, loike a good boy, an' we'll be back!"

Laughing, they set off in pursuit of their colleagues. Then were no sooner out of the front door before I was running to Watson's side. I almost recoiled at the sight that met me on entering the room. It was a small gymnasium, and it appeared Watson had been held across the pommel horse; there was a large blood stain to mark where he had lain.

They had now trussed him up with his hands behind his back, and a cord running from his bound ankles, which were bent behind him, to around his neck. Any attempt to straighten from the excruciating position would have led to strangulation. My blood boiling, I drew out my penknife, and began feverishly sawing through the ropes, marking as I did so the numerous wounds upon his face, and – Oh God – his back.

It had not been an ordinary horsewhip that had made these horrible wounds, but something purpose built to cause damage, rather like a cat o'nine tails. The incongruity of anybody carrying such a ghastly implement around did strike me, but there was no time to dwell on this now. I also forced myself to ignore the longitudinal red burns upon his chest and neck, the work of an ordinary poker, heated in the room's little wood burner.

Watson took a long moment to focus upon me, cringing away initially. He then recognised me, and whimpered -

"Holmes. Oh, my God, thank you, thank you!"

"It's alright, old man" I soothed, as I severed the last of the bonds. "We're quitting this poor hospitality immediately. I'm so very sorry you have been so misused."

He was unable to stand, so I half carried him. I threw open the window, and managed to thread both Watson and myself through, avoiding the prying eyes that may have espied us had we used a more conventional exit. Watson landed rather heavily, and I felt a fresh stab of misery at his stifled moan. I assisted him to rise, hauling his arm up and over my shoulders, and we began an unsteady weaving run across the grounds, into the woods, and towards the cliff edge.

As we reached the narrow path down to the sea, I assessed Watson's condition, and deemed him to be incapable of negotiating it. He was sagging in my arms, almost fainting from pain, exhaustion and loss of blood. I threw him upon my back and lifted him bodily. I began to make my way down the cliff path.

I must confess to a weakness of mine. I do not like heights. It had made my escape from Reichenbach all the more unpleasant, and it was making life very unpleasant now. The cliff was steep and high, the path sheer, and a semi-conscious man makes a cumbersome load. My heart was hammering, my knees shaking, my mouth sticky and my vision swirling as I clambered downwards, each step mercifully lessening the chance that I should plunge both myself and my dearest friend to our deaths.

At last, we reached the rocks, and our boat, and now a new danger presented itself. I could hear the sounds of a hue and cry coming from the grounds above. Any moment now, they would find their bird was flown, and the dogs I could hear baying would give chase, following our trail with ease. Men who carried cat o-nine tails about with them may well also be armed with guns, and if I did not put enough distance between us and our assailants, we would be sitting ducks.

I lay Watson on his side in the bottom of the boat, pushed off quickly, and began to row for all I was worth. I constantly looked over my shoulder at the cliff top, and soon, I saw the shapes of four men and three dogs silhouetted against the moonlight. However, we were some distance away now, and I no longer feared an immediate ballistic reprisal. I do not think they could see us as easily as I could see them. They disappeared again, and I was able to turn my attention to Watson.

He was shivering with cold and reaction. He gasped as I touched him, and his hand flew to his scarred shoulder with a little cry of pain. I removed my overcoat and tucked it around him, and my Guernsey, which I rolled and tucked under his head. His eyes flew open.

"Holmes?"

"I'm here, Watson. Try to stay still."

"Are you alright? You're breathing heavily."

I was almost unmanned at this point, that his concern for me should overcome the ills of his own body. I swallowed hard, and managed to reply with tolerable composure

"I have just performed a half-mile row in a time which would have me winning the blues boat race. Please do not concern yourself. I am going to get us home now. Try to rest."

Watson nodded obediently, and seemed to doze off as I rowed us back towards land. Several times, he awoke with a little cry of fear or pain, and called my name. Each time, I answered him soothingly, and he seemed to calm and settle.

The row was a longish one, as the cliffs extended for two miles in either direction around Hecate's grounds. Dawn was beginning to break as, at last, the cliffs ceased to loom, and we were approaching the harbour of a sleepy fishing village. I advanced with caution, lest Raddison's men should have predicted our destination and arrived ahead of us, but the harbour was as silent and sleepy as the grave. I tethered the boat to the far end of the jetty, and bent to wake Watson. He came to with a great start, followed by another yelp of pain as he jarred himself.

"Watson. We're on land, and away from Hecate House. You're safe. We're going to get you back to Baker Street and get those wounds treated."

"Very well, Holmes" he whispered.

I pulled him upright. "Can you walk at all?"

"If you help me, perhaps" he mumbled, his words slurred.

I supported him, and set off for the tiny railway station whose water tower could be seen at the top of a small hill half a mile away. Watson leant on me more and more, until he was dangling around my neck as I walked. I stumbled and almost fell over a pot-hole, and his head jerked up.

"Your own personal albatross, Holmes" he croaked. I was uncertain whether to be relieved his sense of humour had survived, or alarmed that his self esteem had reached new depths.

"My dear fellow, I have already told you that you are a stormy petrel. You cannot simply change species like this. Besides, a stormy petrel is a much smaller, lighter bird, and believe me, my Watson is no weight at all."

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_Ouch! I have the distinct impression Holmes will not be very happy about the damage done to Watson. I hope he has a suitable revenge in mind._

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	22. Chapter 22: Railway to recovery

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 22: Railway to recovery**

As we approached the station, I took a moment to straighten Watson up a little. I had flung the overcoat around him, now I helped him to don it, and buttoned it to the neck. I replaced my own Guernsey and jammed my cap over my head. I sat Watson down on a bench, and entered the station to enquire as to the train times.

To my relief, we were in time for the 0621 express for London Paddington. I purchased two first class tickets, explaining that -

"T'master's come down for the fishin', an' taken sick off a bad muscle. He'd be glad t' pay for a compartment to himself, as he's not likely t' be too pleasant t' share with. Oh, an' do ye have a basin or bucket?"

I did not want Dr Raddison's cronies to easily trace us.

The station master agreed to the private compartment with barely a batted eyelid, and fetched me a bucket. I returned to Watson, lolling at an uncomfortable angle on the bench. I allowed him to lean on me as we waited for the train, then turned up his collar and pulled his own cap over his eyes, to conceal the facial injuries.

"Watson! Try to walk now, only for the train. I do not want enquiries about a badly injured man to lead to us, and you are currently in the role of a gentleman who did not listen to the advice to never eat a closed muscle. Hold yourself upright, one foot before the other, lean on me, but keep moving, now the left foot, well done!"

With a stream of such encouragement, Watson succeeded in walking to the train door with a straight back, and almost made it to our private compartment. He then collapsed with a sob, and I had to lay him down gently on the seats.

"The coat, Holmes! It's so tight, it's agony against my back. Please help me take it off!"

"Soon, my friend, I promise. Just hang on a little longer, until we can be sure we shall not be interrupted."

He replied with an inarticulate moan, and I felt like a brute, but the conductor was relatively prompt. I helped Watson to sit up, and told him to turn his back slightly to the door and retch into the bucket. The conductor averted his eyes as he inspected our tickets. I leaned forward and spoke to him, _sotto voce_,

"T'master's a trifle embarrassed by 'is condition, and doesn't wish t' be seen. Could ye see your way t' leavin' a large carafe of water outside the door, an' a tot of brandy, an' givin' us a knock, but otherwise makin' sure nobody can see us?"

The conductor hastily agreed, keen to be away from the revolting noises exuding from the corner of the compartment. I turned back to Watson.

Unsurprising, the mental prompt of the bucket had led to his genuinely emptying his stomach, for which he apologised in a feeble voice. Hushing him, I helped him slowly remove the coat, flinching vicariously as it stuck to one of the wounds on his back. Most had ceased to bleed, and I deemed there was little I could do about them now.

The knock at the door announced our water and brandy, and I helped him swallow a mouthful of each, then gently cleaned his face with my wetted handkerchief. I laid him down on his side, almost lying on his front, with his head resting in my lap, and tucked the coat around him, trying not to let it rest too heavily upon him. He fell immediately into an exhausted sleep. When he stirred fretfully, I stroked his hair, as one might do for a sick child.

The journey seemed interminable, and several times I almost decided to quit the train and find local accommodation for us. However, Watson's evident agitation suggested to me familiar surroundings may help to facilitate his recovery.

At last, we were drawing in to Paddington. I woke Watson, and miserably made him put his coat back on. I helped him off the train, and bundled him into a large and private Hackney.

On returning to Baker Street, I undid the front of the coat, and lifted Watson bodily, carrying him up the stairs and alarming Mrs Hudson. I placed him in my own room, as the better for convalescing in, and instructed Mrs Hudson to send an urgent summons to Dr Anstruther.

Anstruther attended with commendable haste, and ministered to my poor friend with expressions of horror. He cleansed the wounds, applying antiseptic, having first insisted on Watson consuming another large measure of brandy, and administering morphine. Several needed stitching, and he used copious quantities of lint in the dressing of them.

"He should be more comfortable now, and I have given him a good dose of morphine" he informed me at last. He showed Mrs Hudson and myself how to position the pillows to support him most efficaciously upon his front and sides, then gathered his hat and bag together to leave, promising me he would return the next morning, and to summon him if there was any cause for concern in the meantime.

"I hope infection will not set in – the wounds appeared relatively uninflamed. However, somebody has set about him like the very Devil. I trust you have hopes of bringing them to justice?"

"Yes," I said, grimly "all of them".

I settled myself in the armchair in my room, pulling through the footrest, and preparing for a vigil. Mrs Hudson appeared with sandwiches, and also, bless her, she had just made lemonade, knowing Watson has a rather childish liking for it. I munched half-heartedly, and occupied myself with copying the list of names and addresses again, asking Mrs Hudson to ensure it was conveyed to Mycroft with a covering note.

I glanced over at the unconscious form of my friend at frequent intervals. He looked exceedingly youthful in repose; now and then, his brows would draw together, or he would shudder, and again, the likeness to a sick child recurred to me.

I cannot deny that I harboured feelings of considerable guilt and grief at seeing him brought so low. My rational side, which Watson has frequently referred to as a fine tuned machine, was clattering distressingly at the moment, as if filled with particles of grit. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry kept repeating itself through my brain like a mantra, and I fervently wished I was lying there wrapped in bandages in his stead.

Watson remained stuporous until evening, when he opened his eyes and gazed about him, confusion receding as he recognised his surroundings. I went to his side and took his hand. His gaze alighted on me, and sharpened.

"Holmes."

"Good to see you awake, Watson. How do you feel?"

He flexed his limbs and torso experimentally, then winced.

"Sore, but I am sure I shall live. Thanks to you, I expect."

I flapped my hand at him, releasing his, and returning to my chair, muttering a disclaimer. Then both of us simultaneously burst out with:

"I'm sorry!"

We looked at each other in surprise. I spoke first.

"I was about to apologise for placing you in such a perilous position in the first place, for insisting on inspecting those blasted outhouses when we already had had what we had come for, for allowing you to fall into the hands of those invidious louts, and for the severity of the injuries you sustained at their hands."

"Easily enough forgiven. I was keen to accompany you, I agreed the outhouses were enticingly interesting, and I was about to apologise for my carelessness in allowing myself to fall into the hands of those invidious louts."

"Please!" I cried, pained "you must not apologise for that. How did it happen?"

"I believe the smaller of the outhouses are their recreational quarters. There was a bar in there, and they were sitting around drinking as I peered through the window. I prepared to leave, and must have made some noise, as they sneaked up upon me and struck me over the head as I left."

"I can readily forgive you in turn, Watson. You were not to know you had stumbled into the lion's den."

"Good of you, Holmes. The injuries are not so severe, although, had that dreadful Castling had more time, I have no doubt all the flesh would have been flayed from my back. He was carrying that ghastly implement about with him, Holmes. I can only assume it is some kind of grisly talisman, or that he uses it to keep discipline amongst the men."

"It is indeed a disturbing reflection upon his character, but not one that astonishes me."

"He is a fiend! During all the harm that was done to me, he watched hungrily, licking his lips, eyes watering, evidently much excited. He is only a small man, but he has a horrid air of command, and a soulless, cold pair of almost completely colourless eyes that I can hardly imagine expressing any emotion save cruelty and lust. As soon as they had seized me, he had his accomplices stripping me to the waist to inflict damage the better. I told him I had got lost fishing, intending to reveal my 'real' cover story later. He held that poker in my face, then branded me with it. He saw the scars upon my shoulder, and _wrenched_ it Holmes! I swear that was more painful than anything else he did. However, it has healed before, and it will all heal again"

His voice had wavered slightly as he said this last, and my hands had closed convulsively over the arms of the chair. To help maintain his composure, and mine, I carried the conversation away.

"At least there is no serious lasting damage done. I shall get them for what they did, Watson. It is a pity they will be more on their guard, once they investigate and find there is no such person as Dr Edmund Daley registered as a herbalist, but you are to congratulated on coming up with so convincing a cover story at the time, and we will find a way around it."

"There _is_ such a person as Edmund Daley, he _was_ a herbalist, he _was_ in debt, and _did_ leave for Australia under a cloud."

"What!?"

"He was lent the money for the package from his distant cousin, who knew he was unlikely to see a return on his investment, but still considered it sound enough to be worth making, as the man was an abject embarrassment. The distant cousin, who shall remain nameless, consulted me in strictest confidence as to the wisdom of this scheme, and I, knowing Dr Daley somewhat, considered it most sensible.

"I thought his identity might come in useful, and skulking around trying to profit by other men's work is just the type of thing he would do."

"Watson!" I exclaimed, delighted. "You surpass yourself! If we give it a few days for Raddison to make enquiries, his suspicion will likely be totally dispelled! The only added difficulty now is entering by sea is no longer likely to be so straightforward... but I have another idea."

"You are going to try to gain access again by another means?"

"Yes. When Mycroft has given me the information I require to focus my investigation efficiently, I shall be ready. This time, I shall be invading the inner sanctum".

I would also have to ask Mycroft to procure me a fresh pair of identities. Tomorrow, I would speak again with Violet Hunter.

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_Watson is on the mend, but he has an uncomfortable few days ahead of him, poor chap. What is Holmes going to have Violet Hunter do?_

_Please review, and I will let you know soon!_

_Thanks for reading, and thanks to all of you who have already reviewed. I will try to make the dialects less impenetrable, and I apologise for all the cliffhangers – but I love a good cliffhanger, and I had to have my hook!_

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	23. Chapter 23: The list

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 23: The list **

My evening, and a large portion of the night, was taken up with tending to Watson. He required support to sit up and eat the chicken broth Mrs Hudson had prepared for him. His pain then seemed to heighten considerably, necessitating a further dose of morphine. He was a little feverish, but fortunately responded well to t cold compress upon his forehead. That night, he woke twice, yelling to unseen assailants to unhand him, and coming to with a great start of terror when I shook him awake.

I must confess, I find caring for an invalid an onerous task. However, Watson has performed a similar role for me on several occasions, and I have even performed this task for him before, but never after such violent and distressing circumstances. I would not shirk from such duty, and would have postponed the next stage of my investigation, had Watson not been considerably improved the next morning.

I helped to prop him up, leaning sideways against a mountain of pillows. He was a little shamefaced about his night-time visitations.

"I am sorry, Holmes. You have had a disturbing night on my behalf. I had thought my nerves would be more proof than this."

"Watson, don't be foolish. If I were deliberately branded with a hot poker, I am sure I should see somebody wielding it in my sleep also. You have cared for me in a pitiable state, often self-inflicted, enough times to feel the books are still considerably in your favour. I cannot begrudge discharging a little of my debt."

"You make an excellent nurse, Holmes. However, I shall do well today. I would not have you suspend your investigations. Please continue with them uninterrupted– it will give me something pleasant to think about, those thugs getting their comeuppance."

I was struck by how much resilience this man must have, to come through such an affaire so lightly. How much worse must his torments in Afganistan have been, to leave him so wasted, and with that haunted look for so long? I did not number many men amongst my acquaintance who would be capable of conversing, let alone taking an interest in my cases, after such a thrashing.

"Very well, my friend. I shall ask Charlie to step up and keep an eye upon you, after I have assisted you in taking care of your basic needs. Should you need anything, the little chap is fleet of foot. He is also proficient at most forms of gambling – if I provide the two of you with playing cards, you should be tolerably well entertained – just do not stake anything of value: you will lose. His reading is very passable also, should you require him to read aloud."

"Thank you, Holmes. I should enjoy Charlie's company. He's a merry enough little fellow."

I summoned Charlie, the best suited to role of nursemaid amongst my Irregulars. I then set out for Whitehall, to visit Mycroft.

I discovered my brother in an excellent mood.

"This is a very pretty hornet's nest you have uncovered here, Sherlock! I really must thank you; it makes for the most interesting reading I have been able to lay my hands on for some time."

"You have uncovered some irregularities in the life stories of the protagonists then?"

"Yes, certainly. Some of the names I am familiar with myself – they move in exalted circles, after all. When I began to see the emergence of a pattern, I took the liberty of consulting Langdale Pike – I believe you have used him yourself on occasion. I had some little tidbits of information for him ripening, which will ensure his discretion on this matter. He was able to supply many of the deficiencies of my knowledge."

"You have been busy, Mycroft! It is not yet eleven o'clock."

"Occasionally, I have been known to exert myself a little, if the problem interests me. I am pleased that the doctor is improving – I take it will not be too long before he recovers? What befell him, precisely?"

I had not mentioned Watson's misfortune to Mycroft, but he must have deduced something of the sort had occurred by my message not being delivered in person, and by my not attending earlier in the day, but arriving now.

"He had an unfortunate encounter with a hot poker and an implement like a cat-o'nine tails."

Mycroft's brows flew up, startled.

"Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. I take it these items were wielded by somebody?"

"With vigour."

"Somebody connected with this fascinating list of names?"

"Indeed."

"Dr Raddison?"

I was slightly taken aback.

"You have heard of him, then?"

"Peripherally. I understand he must take a share of the responsibility for our ever-increasing surplus population?"

"Perhaps not quite so much as he pretends. I have evidence that part of his repertoire includes population redistribution rather than multiplication."

"Potentially nefarious, but, I take it, not the worst of his activities?"

"Blackmail and murder. I am almost sure of it."

"Ah. I thought so. It explains the vigour with which Dr Watson was handled."

"Quite. It was not Dr Raddison directly, but his accomplices. I have the disagreeable suspicion Watson would be in a worse case if the organ grinder had been directly supervising his monkeys."

"Then let us be thankful he was not. Please convey my wishes for a speedy recovery to the good doctor.

"Now. This list. I have catalogued the names:"

Mycroft withdrew a stiff white sheet of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it with a flourish. He then began to read from it, although I suspect the details were already docketed in his formidable brain.

"Three-quarters of these couples have had children in the last two years, or are expectant. Most of their number were married without issue for a considerable time before the happy news. Joyous news indeed, but otherwise, it would appear that featuring on this list dramatically increases one's chances of calamity.

"In one seventh of cases, at least one member from each couple has been reported to be behaving strangely in recent months, some showing signs of severe strain. Several of their number have sold their estates and left the country. Some have left town, pleading ill-health.

"Three people – two women and one man – are rumoured to have disappeared. One is a young woman who was recently mentioned in the papers – was she where your interest began? Ah, I thought so.

"One man has been arrested for 'lewd acts' – a source in the judiciary tells me an anonymous photograph was sent as a tip off to the authorities, after which he was found in a compromising situation with a young man known to facilitate certain predilections.

"There have been two divorces, one for adultery.

"These folk must also, one assumes, be remarkably unhealthy or accident-prone. There have been fourteen deaths, more than one would expect by chance in a young, healthy group. Two have died in childbed – that is not unexpected. Two have had the consumption – again, this is not astonishing."

Mycroft now began striking the unfortunates off against his fingers, like a bizarre death-knell.

"One man died in the street – he appeared to have had some form of seizure. "One was thrown from his horse and broke his neck when out riding alone. "One was killed in a shooting accident.

"One man and two women have died from illness, besides the consumptives. I have been able to accurately ascertain that in at least one case, the exact cause of death was unknown.

"One woman drowned after apparently falling from her rowing boat."

Meredith Rangaford's friend, Veronica Bellingham, presumably.

"...One man hanged himself" continued Mycroft, relentlessly,

"One woman was run down by a runaway horse and carriage, which fled the scene of the accident.

"And one woman fell from the cliff tops near Beachy Head. The inquest said accident, but I understand this was dubious.

"I have recorded the names of each unfortunate next to their particular misadventure. I suggest you memorise the document – it is exceedingly sensitive information when all heaped together, and deserves confidentiality and respect – but you can suck eggs already, of course, Sherlock, I apologise."

"It shall be as you say. My thanks for the information. It is likely to be of inestimable practical value. However, there is one more matter upon which you could assist me: I wish to visit the establishment in person, which will necessitate masquerading as a patient myself –I require another identity. I am aware that plucking fitting couples from the ether is a difficult task, but I would not ask it of you if you were not the most able to assist."

A thoughtful, vacant expression crossed Mycroft's face. He then rose creakily from his chair, and crossed to the door.

"Johnson, could you join me a moment?" he asked his private secretary. The tall, dark young man joined us in Mycroft's office.

"Now, Johnson. May I ask how old you are?"

If Johnson considered the question odd, he did not betray it by so much as a flicker of an eyebrow.

"I am thirty-three years old, Mr Holmes."

"Excellent. May I also ask you to place an estimate upon my brother's age?"

Johnson scrutinised me dispassionately, managing to avoid any suggestion of intrusiveness or insolence.

"I would place Mr Sherlock Holmes' age at approximately thirty, Sir."

"Even better. Quite the compliment for you, Sherlock, if you were given to physical vanity. In truth, he is a few years older, Johnson, but I am pleased your impartial eye underestimates his age.

"What are you feelings regarding blackmailers, Johnson?" enquired Mycroft suddenly.

With the magnificent phlegm of the British civil servant, Johnson retained his impassivity of expression in response to this extraordinary line of questioning, but some animation entered his speech.

"Scoundrels, Mr Holmes. Bloodsucking leeches, cruel and relentless."

"I believe we are of one opinion. What think you of cold blooded murder?"

"Heinous in the extreme, Mr Holmes."

"Precisely. So if an opportunity were to present itself to undermine the perpetrator of such offences, you would wish to avail yourself of it?"

"Certainly."

"I understand you are a married man, Johnson?"

"Yes, Sir, I have been married this two years."

"And you have no offspring as yet?"

"Well, Mr Holmes, we have a child on the way, but it is early days yet, and it is not common knowledge."

"Does anybody besides yourselves know?"

"No. We have yet to inform even our parents. Jane has miscarried in the past, and we did not wish to count our chickens too soon."

Mycroft nodded his understanding, and continued the interview.

"Could you describe your wife to us?"

"Medium tall, brunette, blue-grey eyes, slight build, quite fair."

"I understand you are a younger son of Lord Papworth, and that Lord Saltney-Price has taken an interest in your career?"

"Indeed, Sir, Lord Saltney-Price has been a most kind patron."

"There is a rumour you are to be his heir, in fact."

"I really cannot speculate on my kind benefactor's intentions."

"Hm. Now, Johnson, I think you have been working very hard of late. An associate of mine has a delightful cottage in the Lake District. If I were to ask you and your wife to take an unscheduled holiday there, but to let it be believed you were heading for Devon, and told you it would help to catch a murderer and blackmailer, what would you say?"

"I should be delighted, of course, Sir!"

"Even if you heard rumours your Doppelgangers really were sojourning in Devon, under your names?"

"Such a sacrifice seems paltry, Sir."

Mycroft does share my love of the dramatic. Having eked out this little scene, and bowed Johnson from the room, he turned to me with flourish, and inquired;

"Does this identity meet with your approval?"

"Admirably! The young female I have in mind to assist me is medium-tall, fair skinned and grey-eyed. The only problem is the hair... but I have reason to believe she will be adaptable. I feel Dr Raddison can expect our custom directly."

Mycroft rarely displays emotion. When he does so, it is subtle, and largely portrayed by the changing light in his eyes. Now his grey irises were living storm clouds; cold, steely anger in their midst.

"Do catch this abomination of a doctor, if you please Sherlock. Grateful as I am to him for helping me spend a most interesting evening, I would prefer to terminate his activities. Manifestly, and permanently."

The cold expression shifted, and I fleetingly saw a rarely-glimpsed expression of fear.

"Do beware of men with cat o'nine tails, won't you, little brother?"

* * *

_Now Holmes has his cover story for himself and Violet. Will she agree?_

* * *

_Thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story. _

_I hope people are still enjoying this. If anybody would like to encourage me to continue the story, I always find it helps me write faster than when I feel I'm only writing for me! I've felt a little sad recently, as each time I wistfully check the computer, my total number of reviews hasn't changed. Thank you!_


	24. Chapter 24: The schoolmistress' resolve

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 24: The schoolmistress' resolve**

The expression upon Mycroft's face seemed to follow me out of the room, and I almost faltered in my resolution to recruit Violet Hunter's assistance. Watson's ghastly back, the drowned girl, the desperate leap (or fall?) from Beachy Head, the carriage running down a young body in the prime of life – all this intruded upon my peace of mind.

For one instance, I could not contemplate the notion of exposing Miss Hunter to such peril. However, then I seemed to see the pages of the ledger in Hecate House, the list of names, written at a time when those therein were hale and hearty. The last page swam before my eyes, and next I imagined the pages continuing to turn, new names added, new lives wrecked by this wily monster, ensnaring his victims in the softest, silkiest tendrils.

I mentally shook myself to rid my mind of this romantic drivel. But the ghost of the images remained, and would not disperse.

I would relay the facts to Miss Hunter. I would ask her advice on how best to proceed. I would not ask it of her directly. If she spontaneously suggested accompanying me, I would accept her escort – I would not deny her the privilege of ending such a despicable reign – such triumphs give humanity its greatest meaning, after all. I felt Miss Hunter understood this better than most.

My resolve wavered again as I entered the school gates. The serene plane trees lilted softly from side to side in the breeze. Dastardly deeds and the outside world seemed to have no place here.

A small procession of little girls scampered past, giggling in the decidedly unnerving manner most of their kind adopt, and glancing up at the strange man in their midst with ill-disguised curiosity. As I approached the entrance, my object rounded the corner, arm in arm with Miss Emily Rangaford.

"Mr Holmes!" she exclaimed in surprise, whilst Emily stared at me, eyes wide with hope. "Do you have news for us?"

"Not the ultimate, but certainly a progress report. Miss Berresford, I believe we may be well on the way towards solving your family's difficulties. I would prefer to update you more fully when I stand upon more certain ground. May I beg you to excuse my speaking in private with Miss Hunter for some little while?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes," whispered the poor child. I sensed she was bitterly disappointed I had not brought her a _fait accomplis_, and wished she had not seen me. She bore it bravely though, dropping a little curtsey, holding her head high, and tripping off towards the group of smaller girls, who eagerly claimed her company.

Miss Hunter watched her go.

"She is a good girl. She feels the ills of her situation dreadfully, but she has made herself useful, teaching stitchery, and the younger girls love her. We have set it about that her family have fallen upon hard times, and are out of the country."

"I am much obliged to you for taking such excellent care of her."

"She is no trouble at all, the poor dear. Now, I must shamefully confess to being agog with excitement to hear the latest instalment of this tale. Does that make me an appallingly ghoulish spectator? Please, come and take some refreshment, and tell me what you have learnt."

Violet hustled me through to her little sitting room with her poise of gentility whilst her charges were in view. She rang for tea, and helped me to a cup, taking one herself. She then curled her fingers around it, and blew through the steam, regarding me over the rim with a sudden youthful anticipation.

"So, Mr Holmes. Have you confirmed your suspicions that this villain is worse than that vile character who first brought us together?"

"Certainly more accomplished. I have confirmed much of what I suspected. May I start from when I saw you last, and inform you of the results of my investigations?"

"Please."

I began my tale, starting with Watson and Nancy's discoveries whilst in disguise, and my own in that locality. She was almost as good an audience as Watson, gasping and exclaiming at all the right places during my narrative, in a way which contrived to flatter the narrator. She did have a greater tendency to predict outcomes before I arrived at them, but she expressed it with a dawning intelligence in her eyes rather than with an irritating verbal interruption.

Miss Hunter could not quite contain her animation when I revealed our night-time ingress to Hecate House. Neither could she repress her exclamation of horror when I disclosed what had befallen Watson. His kindness had made a lasting impression upon her, as it did upon many of our clients. I found my own voice a trifle unsteady as I described the attack, and she impulsively reached out and squeezed my hand consolingly. I am not surprised she was popular with her pupils, as I felt gratitude rather than revulsion at the unasked-for intimacy.

I then arrived at the subject of the List (I had begun to automatically award it an upper case initial) and became aware once again of my own uneasiness. I am usually well able to subdue and conceal my emotions, but I felt curiously as though the cool eyes, so attentive in the freckled face, could see through my defences. I reinforced my self-control, and continued.

"It is a disturbing catalogue. Two, three, four misadventures on this list could be put down to coincidence. The weight of probability is now heavily against this eventuality. Allow me to recite to you what I have learned today from my brother."

I found myself ticking off the sad items on the List, much as Mycroft had done, and observed a flush creeping behind the freckles as my recitation progressed. When I had finished, Miss Hunter's complexion was half aghast, half brilliantly furious.

"This monster cannot be human! He must be stopped! Please, Mr Holmes, tell me you have a scheme to accomplish his undoing?"

"I have the foundations of a scheme. I intend to undergo a sojourn at the House myself, under a similar pretence to Watson and Nancy. I feel certain if I can only gain access to his private files, I can uncover sufficient evidence to convict him. I only require evidence of one capital crime, that is the advantage of it. I do have an interest in preventing the private secrets of the poor wretches who confided in him becoming public."

I found myself suddenly transfixed by a superb schoolteacherly gaze, stern and steady, the type that would send children tumbling into confessions of misdeeds. I fought the urge to confess that I had recently consumed an indecent quantity of Watson's best cognac, and guiltily replaced it with an inferior variety to conceal my misdemeanour. She addressed me with a question.

"Whom do you intend to accompany you upon this foray? Nancy Harrison is obviously no longer viable."

I forced myself to meet her gaze.

"I have several occasional allies in matters such as this. My accomplice is not a vital factor."

"I disagree, Mr Holmes. The appearance of gentility is surely essential? A certain adaptability, and talent for dissembling?"

I was now acutely uncomfortable, and regretting my decision to involve Violet Hunter at all. The recounting of the grisly tale seemed to have called clamouring attention to the dangers of the case. What had I been thinking, to involve this pristine creature in such dirty work? I must discourage her.

"Certainly a talent for dissimulation will be an advantage, but gentility is dispensable. Men have been known to marry for financial incentives over breeding. I shall have no difficulty finding a female capable in the arts of deception – it is a plentiful commodity in many of my associates."

"I believe you have bought into it yourself. You came here to ask me to assist you, and you have changed your mind now you think of the dangerous elements."

Damn her percipience! There seemed little purpose in back tracking.

"I regret I approached you with such a proposition. I believe I have been standing too close to the detail to observe the bigger picture. I really cannot in all conscience expect or allow you to place yourself in harm's way so recklessly."

The cool gaze unexpectedly mutated into a fiery glare. I shrank involuntarily in my chair.

"I believe _I_ shall be the judge of what risks I choose to take with my own person. I have spent the best part of my time since you delivered Emma to me in her company. She has been grievously wounded. Her heart may never fully recover, and any chance she has depends upon the success of your enterprise.

"Do you think it is fair that the poor child stays here for the foreseeable future in a pauper's guise when her birthright is that she may command the elegancies of life? That she must hide away from her husband, whom she loves most dearly, for all he sounds a pompous buffoon? And what of the others like her? What of the future? How many other poor creatures must be entrapped and ruined? Do you truly believe my self-respect would allow me to stand my and allow these monstrosities, when all but for a little resolution and courage I could have prevented them? You do not know me if this is what you believe."

The storm of this impassioned speech finally broke, leaving me defeated in its wake.

"You do sound certain, Miss Hunter. Are you _absolutely_ _sure_ you have fully considered the dangers you may be exposing yourself to?"

My answer was a look.

"Very well. I concede defeat. I confess, you did come to mind as my first choice of partner in this venture, but I have been vacillating tiresomely. I will endeavour, to the upmost of my abilities, to protect you from harm. I cannot guarantee it, however, and please be aware, if harm were to befall you, I do not think I could endure knowing I was the cause of it."

"_You_ would not be the cause of it. I choose to take part in this adventure under no duress. It is my decision, and mine alone. I do not feel I could make any other and still meet my own eyes in my looking glass every morning, knowing what it would mean."

"I have said before, you are a remarkable woman."

The grave expression which had come upon her countenance faded, and was replaced by a sparkling look of pure mischief.

"Besides," said she, "it will be _fun_!"

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_Continued soon in Chapter 25...._


	25. Chapter 25: Come Into My Parlour

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 25: Come into my parlour**

Arranging my appointment with my unwitting nemesis was a gentlemanly affair involving gracious contacts and handshakes. At the invitation, as I understood it, of Colonel Rangaford, he had returned to London to further impede Miss Meredith Rangaford's well-being, under the guise of inquiring after Mrs Rangaford's.

I met him there, under the bland, unrecognising gaze of that admirable young woman. I was assuming the identity of a distant friend of the family. With a sense of near-unreality, I took my seat in the Colonel's smart parlour, with a porcelain cup of tea upon my lap, and with Dr Raddison in the same room.

I studied him surreptiously. He was a tall man, and arrestingly gross, some of his bulk corpulence, some pronounced muscle-mass. His presence would be one which would fill a room. He had the slight air of a dandy, his immaculately tailored suit rather more tasteful than the somewhat flamboyant waistcoat straining over his enormous abdomen. His hair was grizzled, and swept back with pomade. His face was a large one, with jowls beginning to pendulate. Little creases around his eyes gave him a superficial appearance of bonhomie. The eyes themselves were slate-grey, and possessed of as much warmth as that stone. A prominent nose and jutting chin completed the portrait of a man of determination and decision.

I awaited my chance of imploring that he grant me a private interview.

I think I carried it off rather well, the blend of hauteur, embarrassment, nerves and eagerness. My role was enhanced by my very physical reaction to meeting the man.

Dr Raddison had sent a chill down my spine when I saw him across the street. Now, knowing what I did about him, and knowing the state Watson still lay in following a session which must have been assumed to meet with his approval, he turned my stomach.

A distant cousin of ours had once visited our house when I was six years old. The cousin, Claude, had been fourteen at the time, a year older than Mycroft, and we were both keen to impress him. He had shown us his pet - an enormous, bird-eating spider named Sidney. Mycroft, with customary disdain, had played his part by saying he had no conception of why he should _want_ to handle such a disgusting beast. It says much for his aplomb that this attitude was not viewed as spinelessness by our cousin.

I had attempted to mimic his sanguinity, and been laughed at, and teased for a coward. With a pout, I had rolled up my sleeve, held out my hand, and demanded to hold Sidney. The terrible, creeping, shrinking sensation within my very skin I can still recall to this day as the hairy-legged beast began crawling deliberately up my arm. The same sensation was afflicting me now. Few criminals have had this impact upon me. I was not at liberty to react as I had then (my cousin had squealed with alarm that Sidney was about to bite, and I had screamed hysterically, jerking my hand away, and jumping around shaking it, whilst Mycroft and Claude howled with laughter), but instead I harnessed the sense of loathing to augment my endeavours.

Raddison had greeted me with a handshake, and we had made desultory, polite conversation. I saw the slightest flicker of greedy interest in his eyes when I revealed my assumed identity. I then reached my point, which he had been most civilly waiting for me to reach, when Miss Rangaford departed under a pretext.

"Dr Raddison, I must confess, I have something of an ulterior motive in seeking an introduction with you."

"Ah, I suspected as such, my boy. Oh, pray, do not be self-conscious. In my line of work, it pays to observe these little details."

So smooth and unctuous. He leaned in towards me to just the tiniest degree; a mannerism designed to invite confidence. I had seen Watson perform the same manoeuvre a thousand times before, and found it a warming gesture. In Raddison, it was like an obscene parody of genuine kindness. It was admirably done, and the assumption of avuncular warmth was wonderful, but I found myself wondering how anyone could ever have been taken in by this man when I myself, not generally a fanciful person, seemed to see waves of pure evil emanating from his person. I concealed my revulsion, and continued to play my part.

"It is regarding your line of work I wished to consult you. I have a wife, you see..." I stuttered artistically to a halt.

"You are to be congratulated, dear boy" prompted Raddison, with just the right blend of humour, kindness and deference, a gentle smile playing about his lips. _He may smile and smile and be a villain_, I thought. I smiled back at him, self-consciously, and continued.

"My wife and I are very happily married, but as yet we have no heir. I have heard you have some expertise upon these matters, which I would be most grateful to acquire. Is there any possibility you can accommodate us?" I babbled, as if I had been girding myself for this speech for days.

Raddison settled his bulk more comfortably into his arm chair.

"It is always a pleasure to be of use to young couples such as yourselves. I do run a clinic from my residence in Devon. Well, I say clinic. It is more of an all-encompassing _experience_, to be truthful, even if I do sound to be calling my own praises. Here is my card, and my direction.

"I would be delighted if you and your lovely lady wife would care to join me. Perhaps you would care for some preliminary information regarding uninteresting subjects such as fees before you committed?"

I flapped a hand dismissively. "Money is of no consequence in this concern. I am most willing to pay for the best care for my wife and I."

"Splendid! Now that these sordid details are no longer of interest, perhaps we could arrange a time for you to visit?"

He drew a diary from his breast pocket. I reciprocated, trying to appear as if I was trying _not_ to appear too eager.

"I would be most appreciative if you could see us at your earliest convenience" I stated. "My wife finds our situation.... distressing, and I would prefer not to delay too long, for her sake." I made a mental note to inform Miss Hunter she was to be a rather hysterical type, and watched the satisfaction at this pronouncement just reveal itself on Raddison's face.

"You are in luck" he said, having made a concession to checking the diary. "I have a clear three days at the start of next week. Will this be time enough for you to make your preparations?" Four days. It should be sufficient for him to check my pedigree, and for me to ensure Watson was continuing to mend as I liked.

"That would be admirable. Thank you, Dr Raddison" I said, as I rose to depart, wringing his hand.

"Your are most welcome. My man will meet you at the station to convey you to my premises. I shall greatly look forward to meeting you both at Hecate House."

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_It's all arranged, then. No turning back now. Violet and Holmes arrive at Hecate House in Chapter 26._


	26. Chapter 26: Once more unto the breach

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 26: Once more unto the breach**

The next four days were spent in intense preparation, as if I were a general plotting his campaign of attack. I did not wish to be surprised in any unpleasant fashion at Hecate House, and certainly did not wish to endanger my fair companion.

Mrs Hudson half-heartedly threatened to evict me for the thousandth time, in response to the comings and goings of my various allies. I asked that she decide formally the week after next, whilst continuing to write my letters. She was obviously annoyed, as she was quoting scripture at me. However, I had some grace left to me, as we had not arrived at the inventive Biblical curses yet, such as my increase being delivered to the caterpillar.

Further preparations were required to satisfactorily adjust Miss Hunter's appearance. Fortunately, Mrs Johnson's hair was a rich chocolate brown, not too far removed from her own tones, and a fairly subtle dye produced the necessary change. I felt once in a lifetime was sufficient for Miss Hunter to fully sacrifice her "artistic" hair.

The time not spent in organisation was spent upon Watson. He was now stiffly moving about the room in his pyjamas and dressing gown, but any more strenuous exercise brought the sweat to his brow, and his knees would begin to buckle.

I attempted to forestall any needs he may have, several times deducing them before he realised them himself, and earning a gratifying degree of admiration in the process. I changed the dressings on his back myself, and administered morphine during the night when his pain grew particularly intense, he clicking his tongue in old, wry disapproval at my proficiency with the syringe.

The day of departure eventually arrived. My friend was sufficiently recovered that I felt I could leave him to his own devices. I set off to collect Violet Hunter.

She met me at her school, the expensive valise I had purchased for her packed. The exclusive gown she was wearing was most becoming, and she smiled at me as I made this observation.

"Thank-you, Mr Holmes. I am hoping I shall be allowed to keep it when this adventure is over. It is far finer than anything in my own wardrobe. I am most impressed that you knew what to provide – right down to the most _personal_ details" said she, with a mischievous look, no doubt referring to the top-quality linen underclothing I had felt necessary to satisfy any curious members of Dr Raddison's staff. I refused to be embarrassed, taking the valise from her, and drawing her arm through mine.

"I always find a most thorough attention to detail yields the best results. Such as, we will be travelling to the Johnson's London residence, entering clandestinely, and exiting via the front door, in case of Raddison's spies."

"Oh, how delightful! I did not think the cloak and dagger part was going to begin until we reached Devon, but evidently the excitement starts here."

"I would not get too excited. Surveillance can be extremely boring."

"I am used to a higher class of boredom, Mr Holmes."

"I think you should start to use my assumed name, and I yours, if you have no objection. It would not do to slip up in front of Raddison or his men."

"No indeed. What am I to call you?"

"William."

"A fine, sturdy name. And who am I?"

"Jane."

"Hm, what a pity. Jane Johnson. I sound a dull type. I had hoped for something a little more romantic, like Titania or Ophelia."

"Just consider yourself fortunate you are not a Clothilde or a Gertrude."

"Good Heavens, yes! I had not considered Gertrude."

I saw no sign of espionage as we made our egress from the Johnson's town house. However, Miss Hunter and I remained in character as Jane and William during the journey down to Devon. I had cause to admire Miss Hunter's acting abilities – she acquired a laconic, upper-class air of elegance which was so understated not even I could ever have deduced it was assumed.

Finally, we were drawing into the little village station, and being collected by Raddison's unappealing coachman. We were then rattling through the four miles of lonely countryside that separated Hecate House from the world at large. Miss Hunter's easy chatter died away as the heavy iron gates opened, and we rolled down the oppressive avenue. As Watson and Nancy had recounted, the great, slavering dogs dogged our progress, and the coachman proudly boasted of their ferocity.

"Tek yer throat out, those thur beauties would, soon as look on ye," he cackled, and I felt Miss Hunter repress a small shudder beside me.

The front door was opened to us by the magnificent butler I had also been led to expect, and we were led to the pleasantly furnished anteroom with the comfortable armchairs. Raddison's receptionist called us through, and entered our names into the familiar ledger. I studied her curiously. I felt it unlikely she was aware of her master's villainy; she had that pleasantly vacuous expression that would blithely overlook a massacre on her own doorstep. We signed our assumed names, as we had practised, and through came Raddison, right on cue, to take us through to his private domain.

Not many people would have noticed the subtle stiffening of Miss Hunter's posture at the approach of Raddison. I have considered her a good judge of character ever since first meeting her during the little affaire of the Copper Beeches. I noticed it however; evidently her instincts were not misleading her as to his character now (although I must take her very thorough priming into account).

As we settled at Raddison's desk, I surreptitiously studied the door behind it. It was a sturdy door, and I should imagine the lock was complex.

Again, I had cause to admire Watson's ability to evocate a situation. Raddison's rules and regulations, all requested so genteelly, so delicately, began to make me feel I was stifling in scented cobwebs, binding me all about. We could use the gymnasium at any time, use of the spa-pool or the sauna must be requested in advance, would we please keep to our private gardens, please to help ourselves to any refreshments in our rooms, please do not wander the rest of the House. It was stultifying. Miss Hunter and I nodded dumbly, then obediently retired to our rooms like children when Dr Raddison observed we must be fatigued by our journeys.

The final constraint came when we were guided to our chambers personally by our host. He was convivial in the extreme, but it was clear he would not brook rebellion. His final words, as he ushered us into our luxurious apartment, was;

"Should you require anything, ask Robinson. He will be your personal footman for the day. The night shift will be covered by Perks. One or other of them will be outside your rooms, at your command, day or night."

********************************

_Oh dear. Having a guard outside the door doesn't sound very conducive to stealing around the house in the dead of night looking for incriminating evidence. How does Holmes propose to get around this one? The next chapter is already up, so read on to find out._

Chapter 27: The Honey Trap


	27. Chapter 27: The Honey Trap

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 27: The Honey Trap**

I saw no need to waste time whilst trapped in our ivory tower. I immediately began to survey the room for potential hiding places. Strapped in a harness around my chest was a top-class burglary kit. Miss Hunter's full skirts also concealed some extra pieces of equipment that I had envisaged would be difficult to conceal upon my own person. The ideal hiding place presented itself in the interior of the divan bed. It was a simple matter to slit the seam of the fabric, place my equipment within, then stitch it shut again, on the side nearest the wall.

As I was engaged upon this task, I heard a stifled expression of shocked amusement from Miss Hunter, and turned to find her rifling through the pages of a book upon the bedside table.

"What is it, Jane?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just that the reading matter here is in questionable taste."

I suddenly remembered Watson telling me of the chamber, and realised what I should find as I shot to Miss Hunter's side.

It was pornography of the most amazing type. Artistically drawn, and anatomically fearfully accurate, it detailed the various acts which may be said to render the sexual act rather more exhilarating.

"Miss Hunter!" I gasped, horrified, forgetting my character for a moment, "I must apologise! You should not be exposed to such filth!"

She only laughed. "Oh, don't worry, _William_. I think I am made of sterner stuff than you think. I have to teach young ladies about the birds and the bees after all – at my school, we do not believe that ignorance is commendable. Although," she added, judiciously, "I must confess _this _has little to do with birds _or_ bees. Is _this _one truly possible?"

"Why do you ask me?" I muttered, annoyed that I should be behaving more like a blushing schoolgirl than my unflappable companion.

"Well, you are a man of the world. I would be surprised if you had no experience of such matters at all. Do you know, these illustrations remind me of Mr Paget's in the Strand. This one looks a little like you, in fact."

I had to laugh at this point. "Blast you, woman, have you no shame? Where is your feminine delicacy?"

"I must have left it at Paddington. Do you think we should return for it?"

Miss Hunter then dropped her air of levity, and the small crease I had come to identify with concentration appeared between her eyebrows.

"Now, William. It would appear we have something of a conundrum. Our rooms are, in effect, guarded day and night. How do you propose we escape to investigate the rest of the House?"

"I am actually pleased they are guarded. I anticipate this will mean they will be more casual about protecting the rest of the house. If I cannot contrive an escape from here, I will not have earned my reputation."

"So modest" she murmured, sitting on the bed to watch me quizzically.

I crossed to the window and looked out. I then gave a soft ejaculation of triumph.

"Come and take a look at this, Jane."

She came to me, and peered out beside me.

"Oh, excellent. I see why you are pleased."

There was a narrow ledge five feet below our window, which traversed the length of the house. From here, I would have access to all the rooms on my floor. The only problem was, I could not expect Miss Hunter to follow me along this perilous route, and I had hoped I would have her to watch my back. I had not finished this thought before Miss Hunter was speaking again, excitedly.

"This brings back memories. There was a similar arrangement in my Aunt's house when I was a child, before my Father fell out with his family. My late brother and I would climb from our windows, hang from our fingertips, and drop onto the ledge. It was a somewhat longer drop than this one, and I was obviously considerably shorter, so I shudder now to think of the risk, but in those days, it was delicious. We would then walk the length of the house to an old tree, clamber into its branches and to the ground, and proceed to the village fair, or the woods, or whatever childish fancy seized us upon the day. It will quite bring back old times to do this again. I can almost see James grinning at me as I think of it."

A wistful look flitted over her face, and I did not have the heart to repel her. I would weigh this matter up carefully before I came to a decision as to the level of her involvement. She fell silent for a while, evidently lost in the memories of her youth. I drew my pipe from my valise, lit it, and smoked it contemplatively. She did not interrupt my reverie, but spoke only when I laid the pipe down and rose to my feet, with the intention of dressing for dinner.

"Do you propose to launch your first offensive tonight?" she enquired.

"Yes" I answered. "I hope my plus-fours may fit you as regular trousers, if you belt them securely around your waist. You will find them far more commodious than skirts when you join me in a climbing session."

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_It sounds as if Holmes has agreed to trust a woman! The world must be turning upside down._

_Read on to discover what their day-time experiences and night-time explorations yield._

_And please leave a review – I hate to whinge, but they have been a little sparse recently – a few more will spur me on to write more quickly – and this story is all finished in my head!_


	28. Chapter 28: Dining with the enemy

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 28: Dining with the enemy**

Our first evening at Hecate House was spent much as Watson and Nancy's had been. We joined the Doctor and his wife for dinner, at his request, but he made no reference to the purpose of our visit, only informing us that we were at present his only 'guests'.

Mrs Raddison was a silent, colourless woman, whose eyes were downcast throughout dinner, and who spoke only when directly answering a remark addressed to her. I had the most disconcerting impression I had met her before, but, unprecedentedly, could not place the connection. This unaccustomed forgetfulness frustrated me, but, so vapid was her manner, her personality as vibrant as the pale eyelashes which framed her watery grey eyes, that I found it difficult not to otherwise entirely overlook her presence.

Dr Raddison's skill as a host came to the fore during dinner. He discoursed with ease on a variety of topics, which would under normal circumstances have distinguished him as a man of sense and compassion. I unexpectedly found myself relaxing and enjoying the evening for no more covert reason than the excellence of the conversation. I also felt a distinct vicarious pride at Miss Hunter's skill in playing her role. She was the consummate society wife; perfectly blending a faint air of hauteur with collected and decorous observations and opinions, as notable for her quiet confidence as for her unconcerned ignorance.

"A most pleasant evening," beamed our host, as the deserts were removed. "I do enjoy a convivial dinner with good company. Now, I'm sure under normal circumstances we gentlemen would continue to sit here and drink our port whilst the ladies retired, but I really cannot encourage the imbibing of fortified spirituous liquor under the present circumstances. What is more, it has been a long day for you, my young friends. We shall embark upon our medical voyages upon the morrow, and, however much I may endeavour to make it as easy and rewarding for you as I am able, some still find the process of question-and-answer a tiring affair. May I encourage you to retire early, to fortify and refresh yourselves for your task. Let Perks know if there is anything additional you require."

"Thank you, Dr Raddison," we both murmured obediently, before allowing ourselves to be gentle but firmly shepherded back to our apartment again.

I was about to share my reminiscences from the evening with Miss Hunter when a horrifying probability struck me – horrifying mainly because I had not considered it before, and, had Dr Raddison not behaved with so little constraint tonight, I might well have considered the possibility I had ruined our entire case with my oversight.

There were two waste pipes leading from the sink in our room. I froze suddenly, furtively surveying the rest of the chamber, but there were no potential spy holes. The extra pipe from the sink, though, would easily conduct our voices into the room below. I shuddered as I recalled how unguarded our earlier conversation had been. I sincerely hoped that Raddison had not begun listening to us at that point, and resolved to arm myself, and place a chair in front of the door in case we had been overheard and he was planning to dispatch us when our guard was down. Of course, the ability to listen to the private conversations of his clients could have provided the abhorrent medico with a great deal of useful information.

"A most enjoyable evening, Jane my dear," I intoned, as naturally as I was able, conveying a warning look to my companion with my eyebrows, "Dr Raddison seems a very pleasant and well-informed chap."

"Indeed he does, dear" replied Miss Hunter, taking my cue, her eyes suddenly wide with alarm, but her voice betraying none of it. "It does make this whole difficult business a little easier, knowing he is such a kind and charming man."

"Pray, try not to think of it as difficult, Dearest," I continued, silently pointing at the waste pipes, tracing the lines of both of them with my finger, and miming listening by cupping my hand around my ear, "It is only going to be natural matters he wishes to discuss with us, after all."

Miss Hunter nodded in comprehension as she looked at the waste pipe, whilst effortlessly maintaining our dialogue. I thought what an excellent teacher she must be, so easily did she divide her attention. "I suppose so, William. It is just so humiliating to have a stranger prying into our private affairs – but I must try not to think so. It is very noble of him to help people like us, and it is our duty to do all we can to start a family. I am glad he is such a nice man. If he were haughty, or overbearing, I don't think I could bear it."

"You are doing very well, my dear. Let us do as the Doctor suggests now, and get some sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow, I am certain."

"There is only one bed" she remarked dully, but with her eyes suddenly sparkling with mischief. "Are we expected to share all night? It seems a trifle inconvenient."

Trying not to laugh, I met her challenge. "We must do as the Doctor suggests, even if it does seem distasteful at first. I am sure we can grit our teeth and accustom ourselves. It is a fairly large bed, after all. I must draw the line at one thing, however, and insist you do not look at the book upon the bedside table. It is most unsuitable."

"Of course, Dear. Oh, how nice. They have lain out my things so neatly in the bathroom. I shall get ready for bed now."

"I shall join you."

I followed her through to the bathroom, and we both glanced at the waste pipes here too. There were two of them. She turned to me with the small crease between her eyebrows making a reappearance. I leaned over, and, placing my lips right next to her ear, I whispered so quietly it was barely above a breath;

"I assume you have gathered that I suspect our conversation may not be exclusive to ourselves?"

She nodded, then placed her mouth against my ear, and replied in kind, her lips softly brushing against me as she whispered;

"You suspect the pipes?"

"Yes. I would imagine they may garner some of their information from this source."

"Do you think they heard us earlier? We were fairly quiet."

"I doubt they can have listened to that particular conversation, or we may not have made it through dinner. However, it is best to be on our guard. I had intended to launch my first assault tonight, but I rather think I shall take certain precautions, and then remain here awake and armed, in case I am mistaken as to our lapse being undetected. A locked door and a loaded pistol can be an admirable ally under these circumstances."

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_Hm, I hope they have not been overheard, or things may get complicated. _

_Continued in Chapter 29. I have also tidied up the first couple of chapters a little, and made a small adjustment to chapter 22, which may be worth re-reading._

_Please read and review, and many thanks to those of you who already have._


	29. Chapter 29: The night watchers

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 29: The night watchers**

I encouraged Miss Hunter to ready herself for bed, and attempt to get an undisturbed night's sleep. At first, she seemed recalcitrant, wishing to assist me in guarding our little territory, and demanding how I considered she would be able to sleep when waiting to be murdered in her bed. There was more humour than horror in these protestations, however, and she was biddable enough when I reminded her that I was no stranger to sleepless nights, and may require her to be at her best over the next few days.

I was impressed by how effectively she seemed to empty her mind of admittedly compelling distractions and settle to her repose. She appeared to boast some of that ability of detachment that has sustained me so well over the years. Her face appeared smooth and placid in the dim light of the room as she slept.

I took up my vigil, seated in the fireside armchair clad in my night-gear and dressing gown. Initially I smoked, then put out the pipe lest it should enable detection of my wakefulness. The house was silent, but for those little night-time noises which may always be found in an old property, and which may fill the minds of those of nervous dispositions with unease. The creak of an expanding floorboard, the soft scrape of the small branches of an old tree against the window and the patter of rain, the scuttle of small feet belonging to some diminutive nocturnal creature. Now and again, I heard a cough, presumably emanating from Perks, our night-watchman. I did not envy him his interminably dull guard duty. At least I had a comfortable armchair and an intriguing mystery to help occupy my time.

At ten-to-two a.m., I rose to my feet and silently padded to the window. I lit my dark lantern, which I had earlier retrieved from its hiding place, leaving the shutter closed. I then gently slid up the sash window and carefully surveyed the grounds, lying peaceful in the moonlight. A faint scent of fresh rain and honeysuckle wafted through the open window. I watched and listened intently for ten minutes. Nothing was stirring.

I opened the shutter of my lantern, the odour of hot metal combining acidly with the clean outdoor aromas. I passed a book across its light several times, in a premeditated sequence. I smiled in satisfaction as two brief, distant flashes shone out in answer. I then closed the window, blew out the flame, and returned to my armchair.

As the grey light of dawn began to give way to a yellower hue, I shook Miss Hunter awake. She blinked up at me sleepily for a moment, then her gaze sharpened and in a few brief seconds she was fully alert. I bent my head, and whispered into her ear.

"I apologise for disturbing you at this unseasonably early hour, but we appear to have survived the main part of the night unmolested. Perhaps you would take the next watch whilst I grab an hour or two of sleep?"

"Of course. I shall wake you immediately should anything untoward occur."

"Thank you. I am not expecting any disturbance, but caution is still to be advocated."

I have the lucky talent of being able to will sleep whenever I have the need and the opportunity. My brief rest served me I daresay as well as a full night would serve most men. At half-past seven, I awoke spontaneously, bidding "Jane" a deliberately bleary "Good morning". We then quietly concealed my dark lantern, and made early morning conversation in character as Mr and Mrs Johnson, the content of which would convince any clandestine witnesses of our extreme ripeness for plucking, as my less upstanding associates might phrase it.

We made the necessary adjustments to our _toilettes_, and then exited our chamber. Dr Raddison was waiting for us alone at the breakfast table, wreathed in smiles as we entered. We broke our fast sumptuously, then he took up a snow white linen napkin and wiped his lips.

"Well, my young friends, I hope you are now sufficiently fortified. We shall need to embark upon the business end of your visit. Shall we start our little chat in, say, half an hour? I anticipate it will be a most interesting and productive day."

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_Well, so far they appear to have got away with their deception. What are the mysterious lights in the night-time? And what is going to happen in their interviews? Continued in Chapter 30._


	30. Chapter 30: What's your pleasure?

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 30: What's your pleasure?**

As we were ushered into Raddison's luxurious consulting room, Miss Hunter's hand found mine, and squeezed briefly, before releasing me. I returned the salute, wondering if it was due to nerves, or her conscientious playing of a part.

The arrangement of the room was unusual. We were seated upon a small, comfortable sofa, and Raddison, rather than sitting opposite us, sat at right angles, so that the desk did not intrude between us, but so that he could jot items down if he chose. Doubtless it was chosen to increase the air of intimacy in the room.

"Now", beamed Raddison, as we were seated, "let us begin".

The consultation began. The initial part was what Watson and Nancy had led me to expect. Raddison closely questioned us, in a great many respects.

The questions seemed to fall into categories. The first part was all about obtaining an impression of our feelings for each other, and whether our union was based on disinterested passion or dutiful convenience. It explored our attitudes, our hopes, our desires. The man had evidently made a great study of psychology in its scientific and philosophical forms, and was employing it effect now. I felt, as had all those whose paths I had followed, that my soul was under the microscope.

I wished to put across the impression of an affectionate but rather neutral relationship. I also wanted to test one of my theories regarding Raddison's techniques. I allowed myself to speak passionately only upon the subject of young _male_ cronies of mine. I was rather proud of the expression of unconscious longing that passed across my face as I described "Claude" and "Benjamin", allowing them to crop up in conversation as if by accident, yet all too easily. Miss Hunter helpfully augmented the impression I was trying to give, by sitting with her hands clasped, lips folded and eyes downcast as I spoke, contriving to convey helpless disapprobation of an inclination she suspected, but was powerless to voice. Raddison's eyes glinted momentarily with ruthless interest, quickly overcome.

This part of the interview subjected us to analysis as individuals, and as a couple. Who did we feel made decisions in the household? Who took charge, in most situations? If we each had to choose five words to describe ourselves, and each other, what would we choose?

The second part of the interview was the most embarrassing, despite our having prepared to be subjected to such insolent questions.

I suspect Watson had deliberately withheld some of the less important details of this process. I had not fully expected to be faced with an anatomically accurate diagram of male and female nudes, in saggital and longitudinal cross-section. Raddison smiled, and shrugged apologetically.

"_Do_ excuse my impertinence in insisting upon this exercise. The standards of education in society today are to be deplored, and, since I have had several clients who have been attempting to procreate using entirely the wrong parts of the body, I am resolute that all my clients must describe their understanding of the procreative process. Please describe it to me."

I stumblingly acquiesced, the flame in my cheeks not entirely attributable to my acting skills. Raddison asked Miss Hunter to verify my impressions, confirming that she knew the difference between her various entrances and exits. I felt that all-too-frequent twinge of guilt about subjecting a relatively innocent young lady to such a degrading experience, but she coped magnificently.

Total idiocy had not been our policy, so we both gave reasonably accurate answers. I ensured I stumbled in my understanding of _spermatozoa_, and _ova_, whilst being tolerably versed in the anatomical basics. Miss Hunter blushed and disclaimed at first, but then conveyed the impression of no more than moderate ignorance.

We were then questioned on our habits, as I had expected. Raddison asked us if we enjoyed our marital conjugations. I answered with a noncommittal affirmative, Miss Hunter conveyed the impression that such matters were her duty, and therefore it was not her prerogative to complain.

How often? Always to completion? What did we do afterwards? What did we do beforehand? Was alcohol commonly involved? Had we always had the same regularity? Had we started soon after marriage? For the duration of this consultation, I was able to forget my antipathy to the man, and lose myself in admiration of his professionalism and empathy. The questions would have been torture under normal circumstances to most respectable couples, yet he carried it off with aplomb, contriving to help us forget our mortification.

The third part of the interview was more practical. What were our occupations, and how much time did they take up? What were our respective roles within the household? What was our income? Who managed the finances? What staff did we employ? Who took charge? If Jane wished to hold a party, or buy a new gown, or item of jewellery, would she consult her husband? And vice versa; what if he wished to purchase a new horse, or large item of furniture? We answered, giving the impression that "Jane" took charge of the household bills, whereas I managed the rest of our finances, and Jane ceded all authority to me. As such, we could both readily access large sums of money, without notice from each other.

Finally, the questions came to an end, and Dr Raddison suggested breaking for lunch.

"My clients generally find these little sessions most fatiguing. I will need to collate and analyse the information you have given me today this afternoon, so I suggest you occupy yourselves as you wish until dinner. We will recommence these little sessions tomorrow."

"I should like to explore your surrounding countryside", I declared, whilst Miss Hunter shyly acquiesced. I wanted to take a look at the other employers, and put faces to the voices of Watson's torturers. I particularly wished to meet Castling, of the cat-o-nine tails.

Raddison enthusiastically endorsed our choice of activity. Perhaps it would be useful to him to have us out of his hair. Accordingly, we found ourselves, following a delectable luncheon, mounting two good-looking beasts, with a silent groom as our companion. I questioned him on the locale as we rode. He had been introduced to us as Cartland, but I was able to identify him from the monosyllables I extracted from him, as either Dave or Dan, who had tied Watson up on that most unpleasant night.

As we returned, I was able to exchange salutations with workers on the estate, and place the other partner of Dave/Dan, and two out of three of the group comprising Conrad, Bert and Alf. The staff were invariably courteous. To my regret, I saw no sign of Castling.

We returned to Hecate House after a thorough exploration of the countryside. I expressed a wish to wander the grounds a little, and, although at first a little reluctant, Cartland acquiesced, and we gently hacked around the front of the house. I identified a tree lined avenue, which might provide some shelter from the dogs, should we need to make a rapid exit at any point. It ran from the far walled garden almost to the large, locked gateway.

Finally, we bade farewell to the horse, and retired to the house to dress for dinner.

As we neared our bed-chamber, Robinson, one of our velvet-gloved prison warders, sprang to attention. He was an excessively good-looking youth, almost to the point of effeminacy.

"Good evening, Mrs Johnson, Mr Johnson. I trust you have had a pleasant afternoon?"

"Very, thank you Robinson" I drawled in response, whilst Miss Hunter inclined her head graciously.

Robinson flung the door open for us, and stood back to allow Miss Hunter to pass. He then turned to me, and gave me what I can only describe as a salacious leer. It was subtle, but a leer nonetheless, a look cast from beneath the eyelashes, with a sultry upward tilt of the lips. On a woman, it would have clearly indicated an impending attempt at seduction. I returned him a look of startled interest, as if I was a little uncertain of what I had seen.

"May I offer you any services, Sir?" he offered. He gave the tiniest bite of his lower lip as he finished speaking, looking very intently at me.

I cleared my throat, and ran a finger around my collar.

"Thank you, Robinson. We would appreciate the housemaid bringing up some hot water."

"Already done, Sir. You will excuse the pre-empting, but we spied you coming back to the house. Is there anything else?"

"No, not for now. Thank you."

"Of course. Let me know if you desire anything more." He followed up this speech with the tiniest ghost of a wink. I closed the door behind him thoughtfully. Another theory of mine concerning Raddison's techniques was being substantiated. The promptness of the response to my hints in the interview surprised me somewhat. If I wished to verify my suspicions further, I would require a fool-proof scheme to extricate myself.

There was something else about Robinson. I was again faced with that frustrating intuition that he was familiar to me, but I could not directly account for it. I promised myself a good smoke later this evening to process the new information we had acquired today. It would help to while away the time until the main event of the night-time: the assault upon Raddison's inner sanctum could not be avoided any longer.

* * *

_This is sounding less and less the sort of household I would want to be trapped in...._

_Continued in Chapter 31_


	31. Chapter 31: Treading the maze

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 31: Treading the maze**

As we dressed for dinner, Miss Hunter and I again made pointless and desultory conversation for an audience, interspersed with occasional, more pertinent, softly whispered exchanges. She was startled to hear about Robinson. Suspecting he was fully complicit in the blackmail schemes of the house made his presence outside our door a little more threatening.

Robinson was standing outside our room as we made our way downstairs, and he again offered me an intent, long look, which I forced myself to return, ignoring the jolt of revulsion the action provoked. The revulsion was powerful – not because of Robinson's gender – I had only sympathy towards the unfortunate men who found themselves outside the law because of inclinations they could not help and which harmed nobody – but because of the probable motive behind his intentions.

However, flirtation with a blackmailer may be objectionable, but it may also be useful, and a rational being would not allow squeamishness to outweigh the opportunity of amassing more evidence against this group of foul tricksters.

Dinner tonight was similar to the last; excellent food, scintillating conversation from Dr Raddison, and reserved sycophancy from his wife. I noticed, however that my host was a little more free in dispensing the wine this evening, and, tonight, we did retire traditionally after dinner, I with Raddison, drinking port, poor Miss Hunter confined with Mrs Raddison.

Raddison seemed to be attempting to invoke the free and easy atmosphere of a gentleman's club, offering me an excellent cigar, and lighting his own. His questions superficially appeared casual, but I suspected they were no such thing. He led me on to talking about my male acquaintances again, drawing me out, and all but asking me if my attachment to them inclined towards the romantic.

"I feel society overlooks the immense benefits that can obtain from a powerful masculine friendship," he purred. "So many of our greatest artists display a sensitivity in this respect, and I'm sure the unfettered affection they are able to share allows their creativity to blossom. There must always be a certain reticence obtruding in our relationships with ladies, which is not necessary in male company. Do you not agree?"

I agreed with him enthusiastically, conveying the impression that I had experienced a small epiphany, whilst hoping he would defer any intentions he intended Robinson to pay me – intentions I suspected would involve illegal activities, and a camera.

A further aim of his conversation seemed to be to convince me that my life was arduous, difficult, and taxing. I was uncertain what the aim of this was, but I was sure I would find out soon. I found my host's air of solicitous sympathy more revolting than his priming me for seduction.

The ladies rejoined us after a longer interval than I would have liked, and the conversation became less dangerous. We were eventually allowed to retire.

"Do speak to young George Robinson if you require anything," called Dr Raddison as we left. "He is a most obliging fellow."

I thought I saw a fleeting look of weary bitterness cross his features as we left, but it could have been a trick of the candle-light.

As we returned to our bed-chambers, I saw that, indeed, Robinson was still on sentry duty outside our door. He glanced at me from beneath his eyelashes.

"May I have a word, Sir?" he requested, politely.

Miss Hunter nodded to him, and retired into our chambers. Robinson waited until she had closed the door, then said to me, in a soft voice;

"Dr Raddison believes you to be under a good deal of strain, Sir. I am trained in Oriental massage techniques, which are excellent for fortifying the body. May I offer you my services tomorrow?"

I decided I would have to avoid this form of recreation; it seemed a step too far, and what would under less precarious circumstances be passed off as a humiliating misunderstanding could have dangerous consequences here.

"It is very kind of you, Robinson" I stammered, allowing myself to blush, and expecting that he would read my reticence as nervousness. "However, I have been nursing a minor injury to my shoulder, and I am not sure if Oriental massage may subject it to excessive strain. Perhaps it will settle?" He shot me a rueful grin, which masterfully conveyed disappointment and invitation in one.

"As you wish, Sir. I shall speak to Dr Raddison, if you wish, as to whether my treatments would be beneficial or otherwise?"

"Thank you" I gasped, retreating into the bedroom. "That would be most kind of you."

I closed the door behind me with relief. The only advantage of these very persistent and obvious attempts to trap me was that the likelihood we were under suspicion as spies was negligible.

Miss Hunter was in the bathroom. I allowed her to finish, took my turn, making conversation that spoke of a certain awkwardness upon first being alone together after the intrusive interview of earlier. We then sat upon the bed together, the better to be able to talk in private. I was thus able to gain Miss Hunter's impression of Mrs Raddison.

"Ugh! I have never spent such an insipid evening. The only thing that made it bearable was the thought that she was almost certainly spying on me, and thus the challenge of outwitting her. I never thought subterfuge and intrigue could be so intolerably dull."

"Told you so."

"Thank you, a measured and mature response. Anyway, her technique is to be admired. She sits stitching quietly until the strain of the silence becomes almost unbearable. She then asks a question, or makes an observation, and the relief of clutching at a topic of conversation is such that one babbles quite unguardedly! She is constantly referring back to her husband – whom, incidentally, she refers to as 'Dear Teddy' – can you think of a less suitable name for our opponent? She talks about him as if he is some kind of demigod or oracle, saying that he is the keeper of many secrets. She said 'I must ask you, have you unburdened yourself fully? Because he can help you so much better if you do.' She states it in such a dry, emotionless way, that it sounds inescapable fact. She has a serene severity as she speaks, which I can imagine would make a suggestible girl feel she should do as she asks."

"Their strength is in their versatility. They have a profusion of techniques for extracting information, and a cornucopia of options for what to do with it. I believe they are still considering their options with us. I would rather not share a large part of what passed between the good Doctor and myself, but suffice it to say, I anticipate even closer attentions from Robinson over the next few days."

I attempted to keep my voice flat as I spoke, but Miss Hunter winced on my behalf, then tiredly passed her hands across her face.

"This is a horrid house, William. I feel like we're walking through a maze, and at every corner, there's a different minotaur."

"A picturesque, but apposite description. Here is another. Tonight, we go in search of a ball of twine, and the sword of Aegeus. Sleep a while. I will wake you at two."

* * *

_Excellent, a bit of breaking and entering to liven things up a bit! Continued in Chapter 32._

_Please read and review!_


	32. Chapter 32: In and out the windows

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 32: In and out the windows**

The hours passed slowly. Miss Hunter valiantly attempted to sleep, finding it difficult judging by the frustrated tossing and turning from the bed. I occupied the armchair, allowing a series of thoughts and recollections to chase each other around my over-active brain.

At around midnight, Miss Hunter seemed to settle. Forty minutes later, her sleep was evidently disturbed by unpleasant visitations. Half-coherent, stumbling words tumbled from her lips, her respirations were elevated and she threw her head distressedly from side to side.

I crossed over to her, wondering if I should wake her. As I leaned over, she gave a start, and her eyes fluttered open, somewhat glazed, but a half-cognisant recognition in them. She reached over and seized my hand, seeking reassurance, then smiled slightly, and settled back to sleep. Keeping hold of the hand, I sat beside her on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and studied her, meditatively. She was evidently frightened by the tangled web we found ourselves creeping around in, but by day, it could not be guessed. Only when her conscious mind surrendered to the subconscious in sleep did her apprehension betray itself. My admiration of her courage grew progressively; that she was willing to subdue and overcome a fear so oppressive it invaded her dreams.

Her fear was infective; I began to find myself victim to a gnawing sense of foreboding, which was unusual for me. My fear was on her behalf, not my own. What if, through my auspices, she was harmed? I remembered her, during the case of the Rucastles, admitting her paralysing terror of Mr Rucastle and the locked wing. I did not like to think that through attempting to oblige me, she could subject herself to worse horror.

At ten to two, as last night, I quietly slid open the window, surveyed our surroundings, and lit my dark lantern. Again, my signal was followed by two brief flashes.

I then turned to wake up Miss Hunter.

"I think it is time we made our assault. I suggest you wear the light boots, and my plus-fours."

Miss Hunter nodded, and I turned my back as she rapidly changed into her burglar's attire. The trousers reached down almost to her heels, but were probably more convenient than skirts.

I dressed myself in a comfortable suit, the better for manoeuvrability, and tucked my burglar's kit into my inside pocket. I then climbed carefully from our window sill onto the narrow ledge, and assisted Miss Hunter to do the same. We began to sidle our way along the building, like two giant gulls negotiating a cliff edge. The ledge was no more than six inches wide, which made the enterprise not entirely unperilous. I firmly subverted my own nausea.

We rounded the corner of the building. Here, we would have access to the staircase, and be out of the view of our nocturnal warder. I inspected each window as we passed.

I chose my window. It was a sash, like our own room, and by sliding two sharp, pointed blades under the simple catch, I was able to lift it, little by little, silently.

I began easing the window up, holding my breath as I did so. Every tiny scrape was magnified in my ears, and it took me a full ninety seconds to raise the sash enough to clamber through. I pulled Miss Hunter through after me, and we both stood still in the bedroom we found ourselves in, straining our ears for the tiniest noise, any hint that our presence had been detected. Only the normal scrapes and groans emitted from the old house, no signs of life at all. My companion did start violently at the creak of an expanding floorboard, but I was able to identify it as just that, and not the stealthy tread of a night-time assailant.

I put my lips to her ear.

"We will follow the edges of the floor – always stick close to the wall, it reduces the noise you make."

She nodded her understanding, and we set off. Opening the door to the room was a tense moment, and again, I took my time, starting with the veriest crack, and checking around the corner with the aid of a small mirror.

We were then in the carpeted corridor. The soft plush muffled our footfall, although the tiny whisper of the crushed fabric was deafening. We stole towards the staircase.

"Remember the fourth and fifth steps creak – be careful," whispered Miss Hunter to me. I glanced at her, taken aback – I had been about to impart this advice to her. I merely nodded.

We managed to circumvent the treacherous stairs, and reach the first floor landing. A cold draft wafted along it, and Miss Hunter shivered. I had marked this draught before, and thus had no suspicion it heralded a door left open by persons stalking our progress. I communicated as much.

We inched our way towards along the corridor. I measured my strides as we progressed, and chose my spot to pick the lock of an intervening door, between the staircase and the consulting room. It opened into an unassuming lumbar room. I ensured the sash was simple to ease up, then left it open by just enough to assist a rapid exit. This was my escape route, should things go wrong – it stood exactly above the garden wall, allowing a short drop, and access to the grounds.

With this precaution complete, I returned Miss Hunter to the end of the corridor nearest the stairs. I took a ball of twine from my pocket, and whispered to her;

"I need you to be Ariadne to my Theseus, Miss Hunter. I shall tie this twine to my little finger, and you shall take the other end. Stay here, and keep it taut as I unwind it. I shall gain access to the back room, and be working upon that filing cabinet. If you hear anyone coming, tug on the twine, and I shall run into the lumbar room – you do so also. We will then, I hope, be given some brief notice should we need to run for our lives."

Miss Hunter swallowed and nodded, but she could not altogether prevent her face falling at the prospect of being left all alone in this dreadful house, trying not to jump at shadows. She tried to smile at me; there was just light enough from a window at the head of the stairs to illuminate the brave little gesture. Impulsively, I leaned forward and pecked her reassuringly on the cheek, giving her shoulders a small squeeze, feeling her trembling, but winning a more genuine smile in the process.

I then set off down this branch of our labyrinth, my ball of twine unravelling in my wake.

* * *

_Violet is definitely braver than I am – even writing this has given me the creeps!_

_Will Holmes find what he is looking for? Find out in Chapter 33!_

_Please read and review as well!_


	33. Chapter 33: Locked Rooms

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 33: Locked Rooms**

I reached the door of the consulting room. It was a heavy, expensive door, that when open would offer an opulent welcome, yet, when closed, seemed to state very definitely "_You Cannot Come In_".

I opened my dark lantern a crack, and inspected the lock. It was sturdy, yet a reassuringly simple make – a cylindrical device with five pin tumblers. Unwrapping my kit, I selected my torsion wrench and pick. Although my heart had been hammering and my nerves thrumming with excitement, my world now narrowed down to the internal workings of the lock; connecting up through my fingers by a series of tiny movements and clicks. I had to resist the impulse to simply rake the lock: it is noisy, and prone to causing damage and betraying that ingress has been made. Most burglars are not concerned with concealment after they have departed; but this must be my prime concern.

Apply torque – clockwise, anticlockwise. It is clockwise. Clockwise turn. Probe the pins...one offers more resistance than the others. Ease it upwards, and set it with a further inching around of the tension wrench. Move to the next. Repeat the process. Small, cautious movements. Avoid over-applying the torque – I did not want to have to reverse my direction and risk releasing the pins, landing me back where I had started.

The last pin lifted out of the cylinder, and with a faint clunk that nevertheless seemed to crash and reverberate through the still night air, the lock turned, and the bolt opened. I withdrew a device of my own invention; two interlinked clamps, with which I could hold the tension wrench in position and relock the door if I needed.

I entered the consulting room. The air was stuffy, and still slightly redolent of cigar smoke, lending it an unnerving suggestion of occupation, although the loudest sound to be heard was the soft crunch as the luxurious carpet was crushed beneath my feet as I traversed the edge of the room.

Now I was faced with the door to Bluebeard's Cave; the locked room where the records were filed. A quick inspection of the lock brought a smile of relief and satisfaction to my face. This was a showy device, with an outsized bolt, and an impressive chrome facade, but its design was in essence the same as that of the outer door. A Chubb lock, or even a good warded tubular lock, would have presented me with serious difficulties. I thanked my stars that the rest of humanity did not share my obsessive attention to detail, but tended blindly to believe the adage that money buys quality.

I had this lock unfastened in a shorter time than the external one, and held in place with the same method. I stepped into the dark inner room, with, I suspected, its darker secrets. My entire frame taut with eagerness and expectation, I easily accessed the filing cabinets. Picking up the first document, I began to read. What I read, took my breath away.

* * *

_So will the filing cabinets tell us what Dr Raddison has been up to? _

_Sorry this has taken a while – I lost this chapter to a computer glitch, and it took me a major effort to stop sulking and re-write it._

_Also, I assure anyone who notices something familiar about the chapter title, this is a hat-tilt, and certainly not plagiarism!_


	34. Chapter 34: Veronica's Secrets

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 34: Veronica's Secrets**

I had envisaged this possibility from the start. Even Watson had had sufficient imagination to conceive of the myriad of wicked possibilities Dr Raddison's chosen field offered him. However, concocting smoky, imaginary deeds is a very different thing to seeing them documented in black and white in front of one's eyes.

My expectations, or rather, my hopes of this venture had been finding a small mountain of circumstantial evidence, enough to eventually tip the balance of the British Justice system when they were presented in sequence; a process of anecdotal attrition, eventually shaping itself into fact. I had not been entirely sanguine, as the chances that Dr Raddison had been careful to cover his tracks seemed significant.

As I read, beginning with the names of those who were now deceased, it was increasingly bourn upon me that what I had in fact unearthed was not so much attrition as landslide. This was a goldmine; a treasure-house of criminality that almost had me whooping and salivating like a child left unattended in a sweetshop.

I began my explorations, appropriately enough, near where my investigations had begun when Miss Meredith Rangaford had first visited my sitting room: with Veronica Bellingham, the unfortunate young woman drowned in her own lake.

Mrs Bellingham's case was recorded with typical clinical efficiency, the narrative succinct, and as precise as the elegant cursive handwriting I recognised as Dr Raddison's. There were detailed notes, but also a précis which referenced them:

"_Bellingham, William(29yr) and Veronica (27yr). 16 months married. Marriage was not arranged, couple met through mutual friends, basis for relationship appears mutual regard and affection. No clear dominant partner. Note that both William and Veronica answered personal questions in the same manner with their spouse absent and present._

_Veronica: _

_Personality type: Intelligent superficially, yet careless – intellectually flitting, and distractible throughout discussions. Playful. Unreserved, open in discussions – many men may find her disconcertingly frank. Generous-spirited, unsuspicious, open-minded. Moderately gullible, as is wont to be trusting. Clearly values loyalty. _

_Financial situation: Considerable financial means independent of her husband. Usually obedient to his wishes, but tends to run the household and take charge of financial matters. Occasionally extravagant._

_Relationship to spouse: Appears devoted to William. Aware that he holds her as image of perfection; appears occasionally uncomfortable re this. Occasionally, displays protective/maternal tendencies towards William. Much effort directed towards pleasing him. _

_Attitude towards children: Very keen for offspring. Strongest feeling appears to be that she is letting William down. Likely to be persuadable to variety of strategies._

_Biological knowledge: Basic, but accurate. Aware of process and theory of human reproduction, but hazy about specifics._

_Matrimonial habits: Positive attitude; enjoys congress. Coitus is frequent when convenient. Frequent social engagements have curtailed this somewhat; often long gaps when they have no opportunity. Veronica would appear to be the more adventurous of the party._

_Biological aspects: No significant past medical history. Menarche aged 13. Menstruates every 28-30 days, for 5-7 days. Some pelvic pain during menstruation, but not intense. Admits to pre-menstrual emotional lability. Not aware of cyclical changes in bodily discharges. No offensive discharge. No pre-, post- or coital pain or bleeding. No significant pre-marital relationships; minor experimentation only. William aware of this. No history in keeping with sexually transmitted illness. Consented to physical examination; this is entirely normal. No pregnancies. No miscarriages."_

A similar summary existed for William Bellingham, painting a picture of a rather lachrymose young man, who nevertheless was entirely besotted with his vivacious wife. He appeared to have led a particularly blameless existence, beside one youthful peccadillo which he seemed to view with almost morbid shame. The same bald, biological details were listed, and Raddison concluded that his medical history and physical examination was unremarkable, and that his spermatozoa appeared normal under microscopic inspection (with the rather clipped observation that _"obtaining the sample took considerable persuasive effort, owing to the patient's rather exhaustive scruples re morality and modesty"_).

William dealt with, the document proceeded to:

"_Impression:_

"_Medical: Probably normal fertility in both cases. Main difficulty likely to have been timing of coitus relative to ovulation. _

"_Overall: Although financial recompense for basic advice and assistance with conception may be considerable, it is likely that further value may result from capitalising upon Veronica's credulous nature, and requesting additional financial recompense thereafter. She will be aware that William would be inconsolable if she fell from her pedestal. Therefore Veronica and William introduced to theory of sensory mismatch and deprivation. Appointment arranged in Rose Room for Veronica, at likely time of low fertility. Given Raddison Patent Tonic in meantime, and William warned to practice abstention."_

The next document in the Bellingham file was dated three weeks later, and its contents began to expand upon the heinous and ruthless nature of this organisation.

_"William in Bedroom 7, Veronica installed in Rose Room. Chloral hydrate solution administered to Veronica, warned it may cause memory loss. Kept partially sedated, and Nitrous Oxide administered to promote laughing demeanour, enhanced by tactile stimulation, and wrists lightly secured to bed posts with tasselled silken ropes, silken blindfold applied. Still plainly identifiable, and tableaux exploits likely natural playfulness were adultery voluntary. George Robinson employed for coitus, detailed photographic evidence obtained. Veronica awoke later, and asked not to discuss events with William. Unaware of deception at present."_

My hands were shaking with fury as I finished this passage. I thought of poor Emily Rangaford, and the similar hoax used upon her, although obviously in Veronica Bellingham's case, Raddison thought the additional security of sedation and blindfolding requisite. The physical aspect was clearly an appalling violation in itself; the intellectual aspect sickened me further still. _Laughing demeanour_. My God. The poor girl had been enjoying herself, albeit drugged to the eyeballs. What guilt and revulsion must she have endured when she discovered the truth? 

I had thought my loathing of Raddison complete; however I found this evidence made him all the more chilling. He evidently recognised the amiable and admirable qualities within human nature. He was not, therefore, an abomination, completely deficient in moral understanding, but a man who had coldly put that part of his nature to one side to achieve his aims. I forced myself to continue reading, that I might fully appreciate his perfidy.

There was a brief entry that a private audience had been requested with Veronica, then the next document was dated two weeks later again.

_"Met with Veronica in private at her own establishment. Revealed photographs, and requested financial recompense. Arranged further private meeting in one week to discuss this further."_

The narrative continued, dated one week later still. The usually immaculate handwriting was unprecedentedly shaky, but recognisable.

"_Met with Veronica, and it became clear that she had been only superficially open with me during interviews. Revealed herself to be most resolute young woman, determined to resist coercion. Disclosed that she had been too shocked to respond when I first presented her with the photographs, but had now decided she must put a stop to my activities. Demanded that I write signed confession of my actions and close down Hecate House, or she would reveal proceedings to police. She had not informed anybody to date, out of concern for Williams' sensibilities, and agreed to keep her peace if I upheld my part of the bargain. _

_Obviously, this was not viable. James Castling was compelled to subdue her with chloroform. Conveyed to lake and gently immersed until she expired. Borrowed her craft and a spare from boat house, scuppered her own craft, and deposited her with it. Rowed back to shore. No witnesses to proceedings, and no evidence of foul play left behind. Distressing necessity, but complications limited by neat, orderly and prompt management. Find enclosed a lock of this estimable young woman's hair, as a memento of her bravery. May she Rest In Peace."_

* * *

_Ugh! Raddison seems to have betrayed himself by his own hand... if Holmes manages to use this information...._

_Please read and review. Thanks very much for those who have reviewed, especially to all of you who've reviewed more than once, and most especially of all to Westron Wynde, who has reviewed every chapter and probably stopped me from giving up!_


	35. Chapter 35: Pandora's Box

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 35: Pandora's Box**

At first, on reading what seemed tantamount to a signed confession, I was inclined to stow this letter away in an inside pocket, and leave on horseback first thing in the morning. A few moments of consideration made me more circumspect. I read through the last entry again. Unfortunately, I was able to see immediately what a defence counsel would also perceive in an instant. There was no possessive pronoun tied to the murder itself: James Castling had subdued the unfortunate girl with chloroform, but from then on, the Doctor's wretched short-hand omitted to state whether Castling or himself had performed the "gentle immersion". Raddison would be able to argue that he was no more than an unwilling accessory to the crime. I wanted the organ grinder, not the monkey.

Despite this slight drawback, I was still ecstatic with the results of my very first foray. The criminal mind is a never ceasing marvel to me. If I were implicated in a crime such as murder, I would carefully burn any scrap of evidence tying me to the crime. I would choose the quickest, most secure, least obtrusive means of committing my crime, and then set about distancing myself from it, both in body and spirit. Two failings of the criminal are forever proving his downfall: vanity and guilt. The first leads perpetrators to absurdly unsound acts, such as gloatingly recording their triumphs in writing, or keeping little trophies. The second leads the criminal to constantly suspect he is suspected, and undermine an otherwise exemplary crime by attempting to sure up his defence.

There would be more evidence. I frowned as I read through the sad tale of Veronica Bellingham again. I would prefer to locate evidence that was less likely to expose a brave young woman to scandal, even posthumously. I daresay her husband had had enough to bear without listening to evidence of his wife's inadvertent adultery and murder bandied about in a public courtroom.

I decided to scan through each file in turn. I would start with those belonging to the deceased, but would ensure I knew the details of all Raddison's dealings. I hoped for information on the other members of the gang. I wanted all of those implicated added to the bag.

I have encountered many criminals in my time, but not since the late Professor Moriarty has a body of crime astounded me so much as that which I read in that dark little room. It was the elegant variety which was so staggering.

As many villains, Raddison seemed to have started out, if not innocently, then at least no more nefariously than clever charlatanism. The files were arranged alphabetically, not chronologically, but I began to notice that the more ambitious felonies tended to have happened in the last two years. Prior to that, Dr Raddison may even have been a force for the good. I read an early entry:

_"Poorly motile spermatozoa. Syphilitic chancre. Advised abstinence until symptoms wane, to avoid infection of Charlotte, if this has not already occurred. Became offensive and threatened action for slander. Excellent advice repeated. Discharged"._

Other early entries were in a similar vein, and often simply consisted of providing sensible instruction to those without sense:

_"Advised coitus every other Sunday was unlikely to be sufficiently frequent, if offspring are desired in near future. Suggested twice weekly was a more efficacious means of procreation"...._

_ ..."Anne appears to dislike the act of coitus, finding it uncomfortable and embarrassing. Recommended Raddison Mentholated Embrocant, and advised both partners pay more attention to the pleasurable aspects of marital relations. Suggested stay in Hecate House and suitable reading matter to achieve this"...._

_ ... "Reassured Mary that four months is far too early to panic. Recommended a timetable of marital activity based around likely time of ovulation, gave Raddison Patent Tonic, and advised waiting a year before becoming unduly concerned."_

It was apparent that Raddison had considerable expertise in his field. What a pity that he had chosen the route of exploitation over that of education.

The increasing ingenuity developed malignantly over time. Raddison's _modus operandi_ was becoming apparent.

He began with analysing the personalities and basic medical traits of his clients. In some cases, they were still treated with innocuous inert but potent tasting preparations, given a calendar and told when to act. If successful, they were encouraged to recommend Raddison to friends. I imagine it would be difficult to maintain his reputation without some success stories.

If unsuccessful, or if his technique of microscopic "semenalysis" was conclusively unfavourable, they were entered another programme – the "sub-fertile" group. Some clueless and very diffident suitors were given misleading advice, then also entered into this category. "Sir and Lady Hamish Gosford" appeared to have been entered into such a scheme; presumably Raddison intended to modify their regime in time.

Where Raddison's transcendence emerged was in the schemes he concocted for the sub-fertile group. He appeared to have a cohort of fecund young men of varying appearance, who would "squire" those wives brought to clinic whose husbands were clearly infertile. The young man who most closely physically resembled her husband was employed. This service appeared to have been offered with varying degrees of secrecy; in some cases, both spouses were aware, in others, neither, and trickery or sedation were employed. To my grim delight, these young men were named. They could be prosecuted for rape and conspiracy if anybody could be persuaded to testify.

I found the destinations of Mrs Whitney's babies, and evidence of two more "adoptions" from different institutions. James Castling certainly was the softly spoken, soft handed young man Mrs Whitney had so admired. As I had suspected, one couple had been complicit all along, and had proceeded to choose their baby. Other methods were variably clandestine. Of course, any clandestine adoption service to the upper classes was bound to command a stiff fee. The vagaries of inheritance, and family feuds honed and perfected over centuries were reason enough for silence to command a high price. However, upon two women in particular, a technique had been used that left me gasping at the audacity of it:

Raddison arranged for each of these women to take an exceedingly rich and fattening diet, with specialised drinks to supplement this, which he declared would increase her fertility. He had diagnosed each woman with "_a pathologically weak cervix_"; and that the time of greatest danger of miscarriage was during her monthlies. He insisted it would be necessary for her to be resident in Hecate House at these times, and for him to examine her cervix regularly. During these examinations, he secretly inserted cotton pads, and had her reclining all day upon a settle, to convince her she was not bleeding. A little nonsense about the lie of baby, and some clever corsetry to shape her fat, which she was told she must not remove, satisfied her as to the shape of the "bump" – although, to his genuine fascination, one woman was so convinced by her "pseudo-pregnancy", she even began to acquire the correct shape.

All he had to do, when the poor deluded creature came close to her "due date", was acquire a suitable new-born. He would keep her close from 38 weeks onwards, so he had plenty of time to accomplish this. He then induced severe abdominal cramps with tiny quantity of arsenic to persuade her she was in labour.

The women were told they would need to be anaesthetised with chloroform, and the babies delivered by Caesarean section. Whilst they were unconscious, a clean deep cut was made in the abdomen, then sutured closed again. The woman was awakened, and presented with the newborn on regaining consciousness. Of course, she would not manage to suckle her infant, but both women were too blissfully happy to mind this too much. I whistled silently at the fee he had claimed for this service. Needless to say, it was very, very expensive.

Despite the deception, in many respects these women were the fortunate ones, as they were allowed to believe in their good fortune. Dr Raddison had realised the richest pickings would often come from blackmail. I was quite surprised by the modesty of some of the demands, but others were closer to what I understood the market value to be. He was now an exceedingly rich man.

I had already encountered the photography. He had a sordid little production line going with this technique. He gauged his victim first, then adapted his methods according to personality, choosing the likeliest method to succeed. I saw that I was correct in assuming Robinson had performed certain favours upon the husbands. Two men were still paying for their weaknesses. One had refused to pay, and was the gentleman on Mycroft's list serving time in prison for "lewd acts" following a photographic tip-off.

Raddison also took full advantage of his patients' belief in his oath of confidentiality. One young man had broken down and made an agonised confession of his preference for men over women, the "sins" he had committed in the past and his ongoing struggle against his own nature. This honesty was rewarded with a threat to betray him to his family, unless a sizable financial payment was received. It seemed he had been unable to meet this obligation, as he was the young man upon Mycroft's list who had hanged himself. It appeared that Raddison regretted his "misjudgement". He deemed the risk of following up on his threat to inform the family unnecessary.

Evidently, Raddison had made some other "misjudgements". Emily Rangaford had been one, fleeing in terror when threatened, rather than meekly paying. I found her file, and corroboration of what she had told me. Tucked in behind her file was a note written in another hand: "_R.e. photographs of E.R. and G.R. Just to remind you: there are copies_". I was a little puzzled by this, as none of the other files bore a similar note. I was, however, more concerned with the fact that none of the files included photographs. They must be stored elsewhere. I sincerely wished I knew where, as they were potentially damaging for a great number of people, and I would prefer the police did not find them: better they stayed in the private domain.

I continued my harrowing, but compelling reading. Several of Raddison's victims were haplessly recruited to recommend his services to their friends, for fear of exposure. The lies, deceptions and betrayal of trust seemed interminable.

As the first, watery grey light of dawn was beginning to steal through into the consulting room, I relocked the filing cabinet and straightened my stiff back. My eyes were gritty and exhausted from the dim light, but I felt exultant. I had finished internalising the contents of the numerous files and folders. I had found the evidence I required to almost certainly place Raddison's head in a noose, without ruining any fragile reputations, and other evidence that could implicate his vile gang of abusers if the victims were sufficiently brave to confess. I would imagine that the detention behind bars of their tormentors may have a cathartic effect upon several.

I recited Mycroft's list to myself again:

_Three people – two women and one man – are rumoured to have disappeared._ To my relief, it appeared Raddison was unaware of their location, but he had certainly blackmailed them.

_One man has been arrested for 'lewd acts'_.

_There have been two divorces, one for adultery._

True to the blackmailer's art, a small number of his victims had been made an example of. The hypocritical sorrow with which Raddison recorded the results of these betrayals made my blood boil – families splintered and torn asunder, for the sake of feeding this fat, quivering spider whose web they had blundered into.

_There have been fourteen deaths. _

_Two have died in childbed – that is not unexpected. Two have had the consumption. _It appeared that here, at least, Nature and not Raddison were to blame.

_One man died in the street – he appeared to have had some form of seizure._ His wife had confessed that she had been complicit in attempting to conceive via another man. Raddison had been in town, and agreed to the outraged husband's demand that they meet. He suffered a seizure as he climbed into a hansom. None of the passers-by had noticed the seizure began the instant his hand touched the metal of the cab. One man thought he had seen wisps of smoke, but as he was somewhat inebriated, his statement was disregarded. The coroner had noted that the shoes the young man wore were new and rather ill fitting, but had thought little of this. The cab, with its deadly electric charge centred upon the door handle, had driven away unaccosted, after the cabbie had appeared to attempt to aid the stricken victim, and had exchanged his burnt shoes for another pair.

_One was thrown from his horse and broke his neck when out riding alone. _ He had retorted angrily to Raddison attempting to extort money in exchange for compromising photographs, refusing to comply, both hotly refuting he was ashamed of his nature and declaring he would simply deny it was him in the photographs. His greatest mistake had been threatening Raddison in return, asserting that he would find a way to expose him for the swindler he was. A wire, stretched between two trees, was the tragically simple solution to this problem.

_One was killed in a shooting accident._ Interesting. This man had foreseen the possibilities of this venture and had his suspicions aroused by the worn and anxious faces of certain of his friends regarding Raddison. He had done some digging, and deduced to a certain extent what Raddison had been doing. He had then attempted to turn the tables, and blackmail the blackmailer. Young men who enrage dangerous criminals should not attend upper class shooting parties.

_One man and two women have died from illness. _The young husband had been a heavy smoker – when Raddison had recommended he stop, his forceful wife insisted upon his compliance. In the throes of a nicotine addiction with which I entirely sympathised, the athletic youth climbed out of his window one night, thence to wander along the cliff edge and indulge his habit. He curiously investigated the cry of a baby in the outhouse, and overheard enough to apprehend that another resident of Hecate House was to be presented with this child in the guise of their own offspring – following one of the "pseudo-pregnancies". Appalled, he had confronted Raddison with the accusation, and was temporarily appeased, but Raddison guessed he remained dubious. Back home, he received a nondescript fake charity fundraising letter through the post, with a tiny sliver of razor blade incorporated into the flap of the envelope– the resultant presumed paper cut would cause no serious harm, but the aconite oil with which the blade was impregnated was lethal.

A young woman was troubled by hazy memories of her assault under sedation, and had written a suspicious letter to Raddison demanding he explain. A charity fundraising letter was her reward also.

The second man had died innocently enough of an inflammation of the lungs (Raddison had gallantly rescinded his widow's bill), but his role in the other deaths on the list was plain:

_One woman drowned after apparently falling from her rowing boat._ Brave Veronica Bellingham.

_One man hanged himself_. The "regrettable" incident of which Raddison had spoken.

_One woman was run down by a runaway horse and carriage, which fled the scene of the accident._ She had tearfully confessed to Dr Raddison earlier that day that she did not feel she could keep the secret she was carrying another man's child from her husband any longer.

_And one woman fell from the cliff tops near Beachy Head. The inquest said accident, but I understand this was dubious_. Another "regrettable incident". She had simply been unable to bear the evidence of her accidental infidelity.

That exasperating lack of pronouns was again present, but becoming irrelevant with the sheer body of evidence. The two poisonings, the shooting and the horse-riding incident all answered my secondary purpose, in that the victims had all been willing to divulge their information when they were alive, apart from the would-be-blackmailer, who did not deserve my compunction. The cases of Veronica Bellingham, the horse and carriage and Beachy Head, I would consider further.

I would need to separate this evidence into that to be delivered to the official channels, and that to keep back, either for anonymising, or awaiting consent from emboldened victims.

I was still troubled by the absence of the photographs. Where could they be concealed? I would feel happier if they were in safe hands – my own. On an impulse, I carefully examined the room. There. Lifting a picture high on the wall revealed a tiny safe behind it. I glanced nervously towards the consulting room window. I would have to be quick. The safe was a top of the range Babcock model, with the modern combination-type lock. I certainly knew how to crack it, but it would take considerable time; more than I had. However, I knew the try-out combinations issued by the seven major manufacturers. Babcock used ten different numbers. It was just possible that Raddison had not bothered to reset his own combination.

I dialled in the first combination. Nothing. Nothing on the second either. Nor the third. But on the fourth attempt, the safe opened. Stupid, arrogant man.

The safe was empty, except for one small key. I examined it closely. It was a key for a safety deposit locker at Kings Cross Station. I owned a similar one myself; often the best hiding place for sensitive items is amongst an anonymous crowd. The number upon this key had been scratched out, but I reasoned a search authorised by Scotland Yard would be sufficient to discover the corresponding lock. It would also be helpful to prevent anybody removing the contents unexpectedly. I felt in my waistcoat pocket, and removed my own, to all appearances identical, key. Substituting the two keys, I closed the safe and reset it as I had found it.

At this point, I felt a sudden, forceful tug from the twine still tied around my finger.

* * *

_Oh no! I'd forgotten about Violet and her string. I do hope they're not about to get caught....._

_That was a very long one, hope you're still with me. Don't worry, it livens up a bit soon!_

_Thanks for the reviews!_


	36. Chapter 36: The Ascent

**Chapter 36: The Ascent**

I have seldom moved so quickly in my life. I had the clamp and my picks removed from both doors with no more than the small twist I had designed them to require, and was silently racing towards the lumbar room, gathering the twine as I ran. Miss Hunter ran from the opposite direction, her face flushed ad her expression frantic. I felt a twinge of compunction about the lonely vigil she must have endured whilst I was buried in the seamy contents of the filing cabinets.

We both dived into the little room, and, as I drew the door closed, I saw a housemaid round the foot of the stairs. Thankfully, she had not observed the movement, but she was carrying a broom, and the sounds of industrious sweeping penetrated through the closed door. Curse the girl! What was she doing, sweeping a corridor at the crack of dawn? Certainly, she had cut off our best escape route, and soon the rest of the house would be stirring.

Miss Hunter was breathing rather quickly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to me, "I heard her coming down the stairs, but there was no time to do anything apart from bolt to here."

"It is not a disaster yet", I breathed back, her hair tickling my nose. "Thanks to your promptness."

I leaned out of the window, looking upwards. The ledge we had made our way along earlier in the night was seven feet above my head, and I muttered imprecations against Georgian builders and their elegant love of high ceilings. I narrowed my eyes, considering the stonework around the window. It consisted of raised stone slabs in a decorative brick work pattern. It would present little difficulty for me to climb back to our ledge, but Miss Hunter?

Her head appeared beside mine, leaning out of the window. She followed my gaze.

"I'm fairly certain I could climb that, with a little assistance" she declared gamely. Seeing my doubtful expression, she stuck her chin out stubbornly. "I do not see that we have a plethora of options, William."

I nodded. There was little time to indulge in chivalry.

"Do you think it would be easier if I pulled you or pushed you?"

"A bit of both, I think. The difficult part will be getting my balance on the ledge and straightening onto it – oh, no!"

The reason for her ejaculation of dismay was immediately apparent. Several large drops of rain splashed onto us. It would make the smooth stone ledge as slippery as ice.

"'Twere best it were done quickly", I muttered, borrowing from Watson's phraseology. "Come on!"

Our ascent was far from dignified. I stood on the window sill, and pushed Miss Hunter upwards by her rump, to take the strain from her fingers as she negotiated the brickwork. When she reached the top of the window, she was able to reach up and hold on to the ledge. She held her position whilst I scrambled up beside her. I then hissed instructions to her as she continued the ascent.

"Climb onto my knee, keep hold of the ledge, that's right. Now climb onto my shoulders. Don't worry, I'm steady as a rock here, just think of me as a very fat step-ladder. Make sure you keep your centre of balance forward, stick your behind out more, that's it, good girl! Ow! No, sorry, don't worry, your foot just scraped my ear. Now straighten up the wall. Press yourself against it and step up onto the ledge – yes! Well done!"

She carefully turned herself so her back was to the wall and moved along to leave me space to manoeuvre. I pulled myself onto the ledge, twisting and flattening myself as I did so, then straightening to join Miss Hunter. She was panting and flushed with exertion, and her hair was stuck to her forehead, but she shot me a look of triumph, her face breaking into a broad, exultant grin. I could neither help but return it, nor stop the next thought that barged uninvited into my brain.

_She looks extraordinarily beautiful_.

What?! What on earth had induced me to think such a preposterous thing, and at such a time? Concentrate, Holmes! I metaphorically shook my head, and we set off around the edge of the house again, two shadows against the wall, thankfully still barely visible as the rain masked the promise of dawn.

I would have preferred to lead the way, but Miss Hunter had moved towards our destination to allow me to climb onto the ledge, and I had deemed the risks of climbing around her to outweigh the benefits. However, I had great cause to regret this decision. When she rounded the corner of the house, she stepped on a patch of lichen rendered treacherously slimy by the rain. To my horror, her foot slid from under her, and she was falling....


	37. Chapter 37: Not a pleasant business

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 37: Not a pleasant business**

Without both of us possessing excellent reflexes, the only result could have been a shattering fall. Although the fall itself would probably have produced no worse than a broken bone or two, I would not have rated our chances of escaping Raddison's suspicion and vengeance in this eventuality. No innocent explanation would seem feasible, especially not with Miss Hunter's unconventional attire.

As it was, she instinctively flattened herself against the wall as she fell, managing to catch at the ledge and slow her descent. I threw myself flat upon the ledge, grabbing the nearest window sill with one hand, and her wrist with the other. The sudden yank of her weight almost wrenched my shoulder from its socket, and was all the more excruciating for her, judging by the stifled whimper of pain which escaped her. A lesser woman would have screamed. Her breath was coming in soft moans, but she resolutely contained any further noise, although she was now dangling from one arm, a drop of twenty feet beneath her.

My position was precarious indeed, and I dared not move to assist her, or I would have lost my balance, and we would both have tumbled headlong. Memories of Reichenbach surfaced, as they were often wont to do in situations combining sheer drops and emotional stress. My ears were ringing, and the height seemed to stretch before my eyes; the frightened eyes staring back at me made matters worse - I could not tell if it was tears or the pelting rain streaming down her upturned face – I couldn't let her fall. _Control yourself_, I admonished myself sternly, as I reassembled my temporarily scattered wits. It took less than three seconds to regain my composure, but it seemed far longer.

"There's a handhold hear your left hand" I gasped. "Grab onto it!"

For a moment, I thought she might be too panic-stricken to heed me, but then she obeyed.

"Bring your feet up, and push against the wall, take some of your weight off."

There was a pause, then she was scrabbling for purchase with her toes, and the strain on my arm lessened ever so slightly.

"Tighten your grip around my wrist. When I tell you, push upwards with your feet, and with your left hand. I'm going to try and pull up my arm. I cannot pull too hard, or I will overbalance. When I reach the ledge, I will hold on to it, you keep hold of my wrist, and try to bring your left hand up as well. I will then grab you again, as you try to pull yourself up. Do you understand?"

"Yes" came the tense whisper.

"On three, then. _One... two... THREE!I"_

I gave an almighty heave, and managed to catch hold of the ledge, clinging on for dear life. Miss Hunter obeyed my instructions perfectly, and was hanging from the ledge with her left hand, the right clinging onto my wrist.

"Bring your feet up again. You only need to support your weight for a second. Now move your right hand onto the ledge, and hold tight, I'll grab you. Now!"

I caught her by the scruff of her jacket, and hauled, dragging her enough to get her elbows onto the ledge.

"Hang on". Ha. "I need to crouch upright a bit more. Right, I'll pull your belt, you push up with your arms.... bit higher, that's it, flat against the wall.... gotcha! You're up, you're up, well done, Violet! Now just turn around. Back to the window now – I'm going to climb around you so I can go first. A bit indecorous, I'm afraid, I'll have to press up against you a bit."

Finally, we were ready to resume. Miss Hunter was leaning against the wall, her eyes closed and her chest heaving. I could see her knees trembling. I squeezed her hand, and said, as gently as I was able:

"I'm sorry – we'll have to move. I'll warn you of any danger."

There was more of the foul lichen, but now I was expecting it, and explored each footfall carefully before trusting my weight to it. I was able to guide Miss Hunter's footsteps as we made our slow progress around the house.

Finally we arrived at our bedroom window, and with unspeakable relief, Miss Hunter was clambering through, and I followed. We turned to look at other, and then, her bottom lip began to wobble. She sniffed, vigorously, and angrily dashed her arm across her eyes, but she had suffered a severe shock on top of a night of high tension, and it was a losing battle.

"S-sorry" she whispered thickly, "I'm not normally a watering pot, I'll have control of myself i-in s-seconds."

"You were brilliant" I assured her, none too steadily myself, placing a reassuring hand on each of her shoulders. She leaned forward, resting her head upon my chest, then the shoulders started to shake, as she sobbed, violently but silently. I froze stiffly at first, then gently wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin atop her head, and stroking the back of her wet hair.

She calmed under this treatment, her frame less racked, more occasional hiccups than wrenching tears now.

"I feel sick" she muttered prosaically, and detached herself from me to make her way to the bathroom, where she retched distressingly.

I followed her, after a respectable interval.

"Are you alright, Jane Dear?" I asked, in my normal voice, mindful of pipes with ears.

"I think it was that dreadfully rich consommé last night. Plus, there is the most appalling smell of mothballs in the room. I think they're coming from our outdoor gear. Could you hang them out of the window, Dear?"

"They'll get wet – it's pouring out" I answered, marvelling at her presence of mind in providing an alibi for our wet clothes.

"I don't give a fig if they get wet! Just get rid of that horrible smell!" she snapped, with an excellent assumption of asperity.

"Yes, of course, Dear", I answered hastily, the model downtrodden husband.

I opened the window ostentatiously, threw Miss Hunter her nightdress and dressing gown, and hastily removed my own wet clothing, draping it on the sill, and donning my night attire.

I gave Miss Hunter a little longer, then crept back to the bathroom. I turned the gas light up.

She was finishing rinsing a bloodstain from a tear in the thigh of the plus fours. She turned a puffy face towards me, and tried to look nonchalant.

"We'll have to say we caught it on something sharp on the window sill" she whispered. As an attempt to distract my attention, it was feeble.

"You're injured!" I hissed, appalled.

"Hush! It's just a scratch. I've covered it over." She was still trembling considerably, and she wavered slightly on her feet.

I guided her hastily to a chair.

"Show me."

"No, really, it's nothing to worry about."

"Are you embarrassed?"

"No!" she whispered vehemently, but I deduced otherwise from her downcast eyes and rising blush.

"It's on your thigh, I presume?" I asked, trying to emulate Watson's kindly matter of fact tones; difficult to do in a whisper.

"Yes."

"Come with me."

I led her by the hand to the chez longue in the bedroom and pushed her gently onto it. I then fetched two blankets.

"Use these as drapes. I just need to see the part I'm working on, you can preserve your modesty with the rest."

I had brought iodine with us, and she eyed it dubiously as I fetched it. However, I was glad I had insisted, as the scrape was a nasty one; an extensive area of grazed skin, almost like a burn. It was only oozing a small amount of blood, but I knew from experience such wounds were usually exquisitely painful, and it would also need to be properly cleaned and dressed.

I detached my mind from the shapely portion of leg on display, and began dabbing the area with iodine. It must have hurt like fury, as Miss Hunter's teeth were clenched, her face set in a grimace, and her knuckles white. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trickled down the side of her nose.

I flushed with the shame that she should be injured, and distressed.

"I should never have dragged you into this. We're leaving tomorrow" I muttered distraitly.

"So I presume your case is complete?"

"More or less", I replied, evasively.

She fixed me with a gimlet stare.

"What do you mean, '_more or less?_'"

"I mean I have sufficient for the needs of making Raddison pay for his deeds."

"But everything is not resolved as you would like it to be?" she extrapolated.

"It doesn't matter" I grated, "We are getting you away from this place".

She sat bolt upright, startling me and dislodging the blankets, and almost forgot to whisper.

"We most certainly are _not_! Sherlock Holmes, you are going to finish this properly! And I _refuse_ to leave until you have."

* * *

_You tell him, Violet! Definitely a teacher._

_Thank you for the reviews – I particularly liked the agonised "no no no" from Aragonite! Sorry to leave the last chapter on a cliff hanger... but I won't promise not to do it again._


	38. Chapter 38: The soul laid bare

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 38: The soul stripped bare**

My attention was torn between shock at Miss Hunter's outburst, concern for her safety, consideration of keeping her wound clean, and discomfiture at the breech of etiquette as she revealed herself to me probably more than she would wish. The latter consideration was obviously belatedly distracting my companion as she furiously blushed, and replaced her drapery. I averted my eyes until she was done.

Any hope that she may have been diverted from her main purpose was short lived, however, as she pinioned me with another Headmistressy stare, and returned to the subject.

"So, what have you discovered?"

I outlined my discoveries. Something in her countenance warned me not to censor the less savoury discoveries out of respect for feminine delicacy. She listened to me with widening eyes, and an increasingly stormy expression.

"So, as I'm sure you will perceive, there is easily sufficient evidence to convict Raddison several times over, when it is taken together."

"But, if you do not separate out the files before bringing in the official forces, there will be additional, innocent, casualties."

"In essence, yes. I have a certain degree of influence with Scotland Yard, in that I may be able to persuade them to exercise a modicum of discretion. However, such a glut of inflammatory literature as is captured in those files would prove difficult to contain."

"And you were prepared to allow that to happen?" she asked me sternly. Rather stung, I replied:

"Forgive me, but I regard your personal safety to be the paramount consideration."

"Well, please don't", she snapped, _sotto voce_. "I hardly consider this little graze to be a mortal wound. I have a conscience. Think about me in six months time, if I could attribute every ruined reputation and every estranged family to the need for my self-preservation. Consider my feelings, sir!"

"Feelings are all very well" I returned, my ire now roused, "but they must take second place to practical considerations, such as life and limb".

"Do not patronise me! Because I am a woman, it does not automatically define me as a creature without logic – do not smirk! You may sneer at feelings, but they are what separate us from the beasts of the field, _together _with logic. I am quite aware that this is a dangerous venture. I am also aware of the fact that, when I thought I might fall, I was terrified, and that I later indulged in the particularly feminine weakness of tears. I am still frightened, but that does not make me unaware of my duty, and does not prevent me from realising what the repercussions of my prioritising my personal safety would do to me. It would destroy me!

"I first met you when I was frightened. I assisted you in a house where I had felt myself to be persistently under threat – and it was feminine intuition _and _logic which told me such – but I agreed to help you because I felt it to be my duty. You told me then that you would not ask it of me if you did not consider me to be exceptional. Now, I am not alone, and the stakes are even higher – for you will not persuade me that some poor creatures' lives will not be at risk if their deepest shame is made public. My life and limb is bound up in theirs. You would not even consider retiring now if it was only yourself to consider. Please do me the courtesy of not assuming I am immune to the scruples that bind you, just because I am weaker and because I cry when my leg is so bloody painful!"

She seemed to grow tongue-tied after this somewhat incoherent but passionate speech, and immediate embarrassed by her mild profanity. I, however, felt curiously humbled. I swallowed, then held out my hand for her to shake. She returned the salute firmly.

"I said before you were exceptional. I was wrong. I now consider you to be quite unique."

I completed the cleansing and dressing of Miss Hunter's leg.

"Are you injured elsewhere?" I asked, and she quite meekly allowed me to minister to a severely bruised and grazed elbow.

By this time, the morning was advanced, and our bedroom light. The blood stain on the plus fours was no longer apparent. I was gratified to find a rusty nail protruding from the underside of the window sill. It was simply a case of entangling the fabric in it, with the rent in the correct direction, and I felt our night-time excursion was relatively well concealed.

"We still have another day to get through" I whispered. "Do not grow complacent, and think of a good excuse to prevent his examining you."

She nodded. She was holding herself proud and erect, but she looked a little queasy.

We staged a morning conversation, with me politely enquiring as to her health, and she answering that she was still a little poorly. We then exited our chamber (mercifully, it was the innocuous Perks on guard duty that morning, who merely bowed his head to us as we passed), and made our way down to the breakfast chamber. As we rounded the corner towards the breakfast chamber, and our encounter with our all but confirmed multiple murderer, her cold hand slipped into mine.

"I will confess to being a little nervous".

"Very reasonable"

Suddenly, she stopped, a thought evidently arresting her.

"You did not mention Mrs Raddison earlier. Was there anything in the papers to implicate her?"

I sighed. "Unfortunately, nothing solid. I'm sure she is in it up to her neck, but her name is conspicuously absent."

"That is a great pity. After she laid siege to me last night, I think I despise her as much her husband, the hateful, hypocritical woman."

"Don't be too downhearted. Criminals often drag each other down when their necks or their liberty are threatened."

She nodded, squeezed then released my hand, further straightened her shoulders, and preceded me into the breakfast room, ready to make coolly courteous conversation with our host and hostess.

Raddison welcomed us effusively, his plate already loaded with food.

"Good morning, my young friends. I hope you slept well, and that you are recovered from the rigors of yesterday?"

Miss Hunter began to murmur a polite affirmative, but I intervened.

"Jane is feeling a trifle under the weather today. I feel she may struggle with any weighty tasks".

Dr and Mrs Raddison both offered declarations of concern. Raddison patted her hand in an avuncular manner, stating they need not make her interview too strenuous today, and that perhaps she should take her turn second, and lie upon her bed awhile whilst I had my private consultation.

This proposal being acceded to by all, breakfast proceeded leisurely enough, and then Raddison suggested beginning in half an hour.

I entered the consulting room with the restrained excitement and trepidation of the big game hunter; all anticipation to catch my foe, but respectful of the danger he represented. Added to that was the sensation of disgust at having the most private aspects of my life scrutinised by a fellow I utterly abhorred; even if I was playing a character.

"Well, Mr Johnston. As in yesterday's interview, I must re-iterate that this consultation is _entirely_ confidential. I appreciate that many couples have certain topics they are not at ease discussing with their helpmates – this is quite understandable. Also be assured that I hold no prejudices; no prejudices at all. Things have been told to me in this consulting room that may influence the workings of the state, or that may even be of an illegal nature. It is not my position to judge. I am an ear only. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dr Raddison. That is reassuring to know".

He was watching me closely; watching for any reaction that might lead him to revise or adjust his attempt to gain my confidence - pleading hyperbole, or reinforcing his statement. I gave him no such indication, merely conveying gratitude in my expression.

The interview began by re-hashing the details we had discussed yesterday. I allowed him to believe that I was by nature inclined to men and not women, but carefully avoided any outright confession – I did not wish to bring trouble on my head. However, if his plans were turning to blackmail, I would rather I was the candidate than Miss Hunter. I hoped not to be in this place by this time tomorrow, but one could never be sure.

The questions were remarkably intrusive. A methodical scrutiny of my attitudes, habits, work-life, medical history, biological impulses, youthful adventures, peccadilloes, anxieties, lusts, friendships, finances, regrets, education, experiences, opinions, recreational preferences, abilities, religious leanings, feelings towards my wife, secret shames, social standing, family relations, ambitions and plans, focussing particularly on conjugal practices, preferences and understanding, and the importance I attached to children. It took the best part of four hours. I felt drained at the end of it, and so immersed in my role that I was uncertain where Mr William Johnson ended and Mr Sherlock Holmes began.

I was then subjected to a thorough physical examination. I must confess, it almost proved my undoing. When his hand palpated my abdomen, I had to fight to repress a visceral shudder. He also jovially insisted it was essential to "inspect the marital equipment", in much the same bantering tones Watson would have used for a similarly mortifying medical necessity. I had indeed once acquired an excruciatingly painful haematoma following severe trauma to that region, which Watson had had to evacuate with a large bore needle - I had thought that procedure to be the low point of my existence, but I would rather undergo it a dozen times than be examined by cheery Dr Raddison again. I felt thoroughly nauseated, and decided that recovering the papers could wait; a scalding bath was requisite beforehand.

As he allowed me to stand up from the examination couch, I somehow retained enough presence of mind to defend my poor associate from such violation.

"My wife, as you may have gathered, is feeling out of sorts. She is of a fragile mould, and is easily overset by the smallest thing. I must humbly insist that her physical examination is deferred until she is feeling more herself."

He flashed me a look in which sincere concern and amused understanding were communicated by merely the lift of an eyebrow and a twinkle.

"Of course, Mr Johnson. Dear Mrs Johnson did indeed look a little wan this morning. We shall all have lunch, in half an hour, then she and I shall just enjoy a comfortable coze; we shan't press her today."

"You are most kind".

"Not at all. We must take care of the ladies in our lives."

My queasiness returned as I remember the ladies he had "taken care of" in a far more permanent sense. I turned to leave the room, when he recalled me.

"Oh, I quite forgot. Young Robinson is most talented in the arena of Oriental massage. I believe he spoke to you regarding the fact."

"Yes, Doctor, he did, but my shoulder..."

"...would benefit from loosening up. Now. Before you leave, allow me to observe that our discussions have convinced me that you are far too hard on yourself. You work too hard, you set yourself unrealistically high standards and you often deny yourself the simple pleasures in life. One of these pleasures is that of communion with your wife; we shall discuss this in further detail tomorrow.

"However, other pleasures of the flesh need to be indulged on occasion also, or we go mad. You are spare with your eating habits, and your frame tells me you are strict with indulgences in general. Oriental massage is an admirable route to relaxation, and a relaxed man is more likely to sire an heir than a highly strung wreck! See this as part of your therapy."

"V-very well, Doctor". I allowed myself a stammer, and for him to think he saw what he expected to see in my expression. "I-if you think it is for the best. I-I had hoped to take a little turn around the garden this afternoon, to get some fresh air. Perhaps tomorrow?"

I managed to suffuse my face with panic as I ended, hoping he would see me as being nervous and hesitant for an entirely different reason. He beamed benignly at me as he waved me from his room, telling me that Robinson would seek me out whilst he interviewed "Dear Mrs Johnson", to make arrangements.

I fled from the room before my face could betray me.

I headed back up the stairs to our chambers. The stifling air of Hecate House seemed to have crawled into my lungs, and I longed to have a closed door between myself and its inhabitants. Miss Hunter looked up enquiringly as I entered the room. She had been asleep, and was blinking to clear the vestigial heaviness from her eyes.

"How was it?" she asked, apprehensively.

"Informative. Intrusive. Awful." I replied, smiling tiredly at her. She pulled a sympathetic face at me in response.

"How are you feeling? Did you sleep?" I enquired, and she nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Dear, I am feeling much better."

"Dr Raddison will interview you this afternoon. I have asked him not to examine you today, as I do not wish for you to undergo a distressing experience when you are already exhausted. He agreed to defer, so do not worry that you have that ordeal in front of you."

"That was very kind of you."

I moved to sit next to her on the bed, so that we could exchange some words in guaranteed private.

"Have you decided in advanced what you are going to say when he questions you?"

"Yes, more or less. Mostly the truth, so that it is easier to remember. I think you've set before that the best type of lie is a believable one?"

"I never spoke a wiser word. Well done."

We repaired to the dining room for luncheon – an over-elaborate repast, during which Raddison was again playing the role of host _par excellence_, and Mrs Raddison sat quietly, only speaking now and again in order to agree with her husband.

As we rose from the table, Raddison summoned Miss Hunter to join him. My compassion was aroused as she left in his wake. I hoped she would not be subjected to too much insolence.

At least it would be just the one occasion, I told myself. I desperately hoped I would not have to allow her to undergo worse indignancies. My determination rose another notch. Tonight, I would complete the task I had set out to achieve, and then, we would both leave Hecate House.

* * *

_Well, he sounds as if he means it. And what could possibly go wrong?_

_Continued in chapter 39_


	39. Chapter 39: Interlude

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 39: Interlude**

The afternoon passed unremarkably, to my inordinate relief. I lounged around the really quite pleasant garden. It was cold for the time of year, yet bright, and the cool breeze laced with a bracing salt tang was refreshing. My nerves eased a little from their tight coil.

I was sought out by the beautiful but odious Robinson, and blithely committed myself to a rendezvous with him tomorrow afternoon, by which time I hoped I would be on my way back to London, and he on his way to gaol. I would be glad to put this case behind me. I sat on one of the little rustic benches, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

My thoughts drifted to Miss Hunter. What courage she had shown so far, what common sense. I regretted her tears of this morning, but despised her for them not at all. In my very early days as a consulting detective, when I had yet to attain my majority, I had, following more than one horrifyingly close shave, privately relieved my overwrought emotions with a burst of cathartic tears. It was all the more impressive that she had dried her eyes, and carried on regardless.

I hoped she was not finding her interview too humiliating. It is a difficult thing for a delicately bred female to discuss such private matters. I then remembered her leafing through the indecent book upon the bedside table with never so much as a blush, and grinned privately. She was less of a prude than I was.

For a female, she was also impressively bright. No, that was unfair. She was impressively bright by any standards. Her intuitive understanding and natural aptitude for concealment. Her ability to dissemble – another unladylike pursuit that a more conservative soul than myself would hasten to condemn – I found my admiration - and sense of humour - much aroused by it.

Finally, I considered how I found myself sharing a sense of comradeship with her that was only exceeded by that I shared with Watson. Before this case, we had had ample opportunities to converse during the surveillance situations she had assisted me with. She was engaging, entertaining, compassionate, honourable and occasionally outrageous.

Of course, the extingencies of this case had greatly limited our opportunities for any real tête-à-tête, but, like Watson, silence with Miss Hunter was not oppressive, and frequently eloquent with the unspoken communiqué. Raddison would say something pompous, and I would briefly meet her eye, seeing that subtle darkening of her freckles as her nose wrinkled in amusement. Her slight tensing, instantly warning me that she was alert to the possibility of danger, and prepared. Rolling of eyes, chewing on lip, hand motions, leg crosses, foot tappings – she often seemed instinctively able to employ these ordinary movements as signalling, which I was instinctively able to interpret.

All in all, I had meant it when I called her unique. I wondered if I should invite her to participate in more cases when we returned to London. Less dangerous cases of course. And should I confess my recruitment of her to Watson?

The cold had by now penetrated to my bones. I rose from the seat and stretched. I wanted a very hot bath. Perhaps I should also have a nap before dinner, to prepare myself for tonight.

The object of my reverie joined me sooner than I expected, almost catching me surreptitiously ogling the disgraceful book. Her colour was heightened, but she was otherwise calm.

"Are you alright?" I asked, cautiously.

"Yes, yes, quite all right, thank you, Dear." She replied, a little too breezily, "the Doctor was very kind and patient. It is a little... personal though, isn't it? Rather makes one feel one is naked or something of the sort."

"Revoltingly personal," I replied with feeling. "But I suppose one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs."

Miss Hunter, in a very unladylike gesture, mimed sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging; I grinned, and briefly threw my arm around her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic squeeze.

I think we both proceeded down to dinner rather reluctantly. Perhaps we felt the bulk of the day's ordeal was over, and this was just an unpleasant yet anticlimactic interlude before that of the night's. In view of this, Dr Raddison's brilliance as a conversationalist was actually rather welcome. If one forgot one was hunting him, it was very easy to relax and pass the time with him. We rose from the table without it having dragged as much as I expected.

When Dr Raddison suggested whist in lieu of the more formal arrangement of the ladies retiring, I acquiesced eagerly, pleased to spare Miss Hunter the ordeal of another session with Mrs Raddison. I presume she must have succeeded in convincing Raddison that she was thoroughly dull and virtuous.

We rose from the card table at a quarter to eleven, and retired to our room. Now I could feel the air beginning to thrum, as if with the electric charge before a storm. With last night's narrow escape to add salt to the risk, the anticipation of our further adventures tonight was building.

"Does two o'clock suit you again?" I whispered, as we returned to our room.

"I wish it could be sooner, as tonight's dinner appears to have metamorphosed into a parade of dancing spiders, but two o'clock will suit me very well. Don't ask me to sleep first though. I should prefer to sit awake upon the sofa. Do you think we can find some suitably scintillating topic of conversation to pass the time?"

"Best not make it too scintillating, or we may not remember to never speak above a whisper. How about the polyphonic motets of Lassus?"

"Orlandus Lassus, or his younger brother?"

"He had a younger brother?"

"Mm. Um, Bob Lassus."

She started to giggle, and I could not forbear joining in.

I was mildly concerned, when I opened the wardrobe, to discover that the plus fours, which had been magically removed with the other wet clothes by the admirably efficient domestic staff, had not yet been returned.

"It's alright," said Miss Hunter, following my gaze. "My walking dress is not too bulky. I'll manage."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of you clambering along that ledge in a long, flapping skirt."

"Well, neither do I, but we have little choice – your other trousers are all lethally too long. Besides, I managed to fall in the most commodious clothing option – perhaps a ladylike dress with grant me a measure of ladylike grace."

We changed into our housebreaker gear of choice, then sat side by side on the sofa in the dark. The hours before two passed reasonably swiftly, as we held a whispered conversation which encompassed an enormous variety of topics, and Miss Hunter imbued all of them with her usual zest.

It was time. I rose to my feet, and again collected my burglary kit, a sheet from the bed, and the dark lantern. My companion watched me as I repeated the ritual of the previous two nights.

"What is that for?"

"Insurance." I changed my own signal slightly, and then pushed up the sash of the window, and turned to Miss Hunter.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She was breathing rapidly again, but had schooled her features into impassivity.

I smiled at her, as encouragingly as I was able, and made to climb out of the window.

"I would normally say after you, but, on this occasion, I think I shall go first."

* * *

_Continued in Chapter 40_


	40. Chapter 40: Mouse and Cat

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 40: Mouse and Cat**

The night air held a tang as we made our precarious way along our ledge, the cold adding to a shrinking of the flesh, which however could not be wholly attributed to the weather conditions. I was verging on paranoia lest Miss Hunter fall again, and almost took the unreasonable step of ordering her back to our room. The susurration of her long skirts served to remind me how ungainly such garments were for our delicate purpose. However, we reached our destination window without mishap, and repeated our cautious stealing back down the stairs.

With regret, I again left my twine in my partner's capable hands, and regained admittance to the consulting room, and then the inner sanctum – my fingers seemed to remember the delicate sequence of the locks, and I had them undone in half the time it had taken me last night. My task in here would also be easier tonight. I was able to identify on sight each set of case notes, and those I wished to stay clear from the light of day, I placed on the spread out sheet from our bed. It was a matter of only thirty minutes, and then I was straightening up, a flush of triumph upon my face.

I relocked the cabinet. I gathered the corners of the sheet together, and tied them securely. I hefted my bundle experimentally. It was manageable, but too heavy to make my way with along the ledge.

Carrying the bundle, I retreated from the consulting room. Miss Hunter's elegant silhouette visibly sagged with relief at the site of me. I beckoned her over to me, and gained ingress to the lumbar room next door once again. I extracted my rope from my burglary kit, knotted it tightly to the bundle of files, and made my way out of the window onto the garden wall, and thereby along to the next garden. I then lowered it to the ground, and descended after it. There was a particularly magnificent rhododendron growing against the wall, and I carefully concealed the bundle behind it. It was sufficiently dense that it would conceal all traces for long enough to achieve my purpose.

I then scrambled back up a sleepy magnolia, onto the wall again, and cautiously made my way back to the lumbar room window.

Miss Hunter and I then left all else as we had found it, and tiptoed back up the stairs. The house was still dark and silent, the upstairs corridor deserted. We could almost hear the dust motes settling.

Will a burgeoning sense of triumph, we made our stealthy egress from the spare bedroom window, and climbed back onto our ledge. I led the way back along our narrow path to relative safety, and this time, no treacherous lichen or rain marred our progress. The greatest alarm was the purring flutter of a moth as it flew across my ear. We regained our own window, and I helped Miss Hunter through.

I scrambled through myself after her, turning to close the window, as she advanced further into the room.

The room was dark and peaceful. Suddenly though, something struck me as incongruous: why was the pungent scent of my dark lantern still so strong after over an hour since it was last lit?

The inference of this observation hit me powerfully, and in horror, I started to reach for Miss Hunter, to drag her back out of the window as quickly as I could.

I was too late.

At the same instant, a bright shaft of light from the bathroom blinded us, and a voice drawled;

"Well, Mr Johnson, or whoever you are. You really should learn that, it you leave clothes out on the window-sill, they don't tend to get wet on _both sides_."

Miss Hunter let out a petrified gasp, then there were sounds of a scuffle and she fell very silent.

As my eyes adjusted to the glare, I saw George Robinson smirking at me from across the room. He held a trembling Miss Hunter by the chin, his arm wrapped around her neck, and a small pistol held to her throat.

* * *

_Oh no! Will he just shoot them both, and have done with it? Well, that's one option, but it might make a dull story._

_Continued in Chapter 41 – and if you send me a review, asking very, very nicely, I might just be that little bit quicker!_


	41. Chapter 41: Divide et impera

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 41: **_**Divide et impera**_

I could have cursed and screamed at the sight before me. I could have kicked myself for underestimating this young man, and allowing such an obvious flaw as clothes wet through on both sides to betray me. Instead, I had to use my time more profitably, and concoct a story feasible enough to give me time to get at the gun.

Robinson must underestimate me in turn. He must think me a rank, sweating coward. He must let his guard down. I have always held that the best way of acting a part is to be it. I allowed my own fear to spread across my face. The little finger of my left hand dislocates; a remnant of an old injury, and can be hideously painful when it does so. I dislocated it now, pulling down hard upon it, feeling the nausea and clamminess in response, and knowing I must appear grey and sick.

"Please, don't hurt us!" I croaked, and Robinson's face split into a smug grin of enjoyment.

"Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't. That depends on how you behave now. I think you should start talking. Who are you, and what are you doing here? Don't bother trying to tell me you're who you say you are. I heard you, the first day you arrived, gossiping away. _Your_ name is Miss Hunter. _Your_ name, Sir, I don't know, but you say you have a reputation. So, what have you got to say for yourselves?"

This was interesting. He had heard us speaking on the first day, yet we had remained at liberty until now, and found ourselves accosted by Robinson alone. For some reason, he had not told his confederates. This implied a lack of trust, which could be exploited. Divide and conquer, as Caesar may have said. My plan formulated, I began firing out words in frantic, tumbling succession, for all the world a man desperate to escape the death penalty.

"Will you let us go if I tell you?" I allowed the barest beat before cringing away from a twitch of his weapon. "All right, all right, please, I'll talk. My name is Michael Gwent," I stammered, and I watched Robinson's eyes narrow slightly in recognition of the name. "My brother is Robert Gwent, who came here four months ago."

Robert Gwent was a name I had encountered and removed from the large stash of files. He had been described as being "besotted" with the man in front of me, and was also a man being blackmailed so that Raddison would keep his silence.

"Dr Raddison has _pictures_ of my brother and another man. They are... engaged in illegal activities. Together. You can see both their faces – he's seen a copy." I watched carefully from behind my tremulous, miserable facade, and observed the small stare of alarm crossing Robinson's features. I anticipated he was chary of allowing his face to be photographed in any of the blackmailing activities.

"He says he will send them to the authorities if Robert doesn't pay him four thousand pounds. I don't know where he is ever to find such a sum. I he doesn't pay, he is to be made an example of. He cannot bear the shame, and cannot bear the thought of anything happening to the other man he was with either, who he seems to adore quite irrationally. I don't know how he could have been so foolish – we'll all be ruined! It will kill our mother, kill her!" My voice rose in a strangled half-scream towards the end of my sentence.

"So what is your business in all this?" Asked Robinson, softly, gazing at me through lowered black eyelashes.

"He asked me to find the photograph. He knows I am good at finding things, and I can climb. I climb mountains, so he thought I would be able to break into a house."

"And did you find it?"

I fell silent, as if frightened to answer the question. Robinson levelled the gun at me, and I jibbered.

"Please, no, no! Yes, very well, I did find it, and I have destroyed it."

"Where was it? Were there others?"

"It was in a safe behind the picture of the ship on the wall in the room with the filing cabinets in. There were tens of pictures in there, many of them disgusting, but I was only looking for the one of my brother." This was the risky part. Had Robinson seen the inside of the safe before? My gamble paid off; as I had expected, the concealed safe was obviously news to him.

"How did you get in there?"

"I asked a shady sort of friend in London to put me in touch with a man who could pick locks. I spent a week with him learning the basics. I couldn't get in there last night, but I managed it tonight."

"Can you unlock them again?"

"They're already unlocked. I couldn't manage to relock them – that's harder than unlocking."

Robinson smiled again; this time an edge of triumph. He had seen his possible betrayal, and he saw his escape. Such was his satisfaction, he did not question how very convenient it all was. I gave him a little further subconscious push by rearranging the rope still around my shoulders. He took the bait, and his head jerked up as he came to a decision.

"I think you might have found a way to save your life. I'm going to reccy your story. Now, I don't trust you an inch not to wriggle your way out of here when my back's turned, and I don't want you trampling along the corridors with me, so I think I'll keep you here while I go. Give me that rope."

I passed him the coil.

"Sit on that chair, hands behind your back."

As I moved to obey, I nodded almost imperceptibly to Miss Hunter, willing her to comply.

Robinson tied my hands, pulling the rope savagely tight, so that it bit cruelly into my flesh. I had hoped he would expose himself to attack as he did so, but he was cautious. He repeated the performance for Miss Hunter. I could not forbear glaring ferociously at him as she whimpered in pain. He caught sight of my face, and his expression became lascivious.

"Well, it does have spunk, after all." He leaned over me, and suddenly squeezed an area of my anatomy in a manner so horrible I shuddered uncontrollably with revulsion. He laughed. "What a shame we couldn't have got to know each other a bit better. Now, don't go anywhere." He winked, turned, and walked out of the room.

* * *

_Well, this doesn't really sound a lot better, does it? Let's hope things pick up for Holmes and Violet in Chapter 42...._

_Thanks to those of you who have reviewed. I'm still loving getting them._


	42. Chapter 42: Practising Restraint

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 42: Practising Restraint**

The door had barely closed behind Robinson when I set to work. As he had tightened the ropes, I had braced my wrists at an angle, supported by my elbows crooked in the back of the chair, and I now leaned forward and straightened them. The rope eased immediately. I gently twisted the coil around so that my fingers were over the knot, and probed until I felt a give. It was then a simple matter to further loosen my bonds, enough to slip my hands through. The whole process took twenty six seconds.

It was not good fortune that enabled me to achieve this, but good preparation. Very early in my career, I had recognised that my chosen profession was potentially hazardous. I had made a careful study of the art of escapology, even seconding myself for some little time to a skilled practitioner at a well known circus to master the basics. My skills were honed with constant practice. As soon as I felt myself to be sufficiently acquainted with Watson, I had tutored him in the art of knot-tying, and securing a prisoner. I would then set him the challenge of securing me, and myself the challenge of escaping against the clock. Sometimes we would reverse roles, so I could reassure myself that my own restraints were sufficiently secure that even an expert would be seriously incommoded by them. His rueful chuckles and lewd jests at this peculiar form of recreation belied the fact that he was fully cognisant of its potential importance. It was never more important than now. Luck only entered into the equation when one factored in the skill of the knot-tier. I thanked whichever deity might be listening that Robinson was an evident keen amateur in the field of securing prisoners.

Miss Hunter stared at me speechless as I leapt to my feet and flew to the bathroom. I grabbed my razor, and hacked frantically through her restraints, the keen blade freeing her within seven seconds. Robinson would by now be descending the stairs. In a further fifteen seconds, he would be trying the door to the consulting room, and finding it still locked. Unease and aggravation would hasten his return journey. I estimated we had approximately forty-five seconds before he was back outside our room.

"Help me move the chest of drawers in front of the door." I gasped, leaping to the heavy item of furniture. Miss Hunter shook off her stupefaction, and darted to obey. We hefted the twelve stone of solid oak to form a temporary protective barrier. _Thirty-one seconds._

My next action was to hastily slice the bottom from the top pane in the upper sash of the window using my diamond cutter. _Twenty-three seconds_. I threaded the remains of the rope through it, and knotted it at the top and bottom. _Nineteen seconds_. I seized my leather gloves.

"Grab hold of the knot. I'm letting you down to the ground," I shot at Miss Hunter, and, bless her courage, she neither questioned nor demurred, simply complied with admirable efficiency. I slid the rope through my hands, rapidly lowering her. _Fifteen seconds._

I had been planning my most logical escape route. I now seized two pillows from the bed and threw them to the ground. I grabbed the lightest straight-backed chair, tucked my razor into my jacket pocket, and, carrying the chair hooked over my shoulder, slid down the rope to the ground myself. As I descended, I heard the appallingly loud shatter of glass, as my weight broke the crossbar of the window pane. _Blast_. The sound was certain to raise the household. Sure enough, lights were flickering on, as I hacked a ten-foot double length of rope for myself, snatched up the pillows from the ground, thrust one to Miss Hunter, and raced for the garden wall. My countdown expired. Robinson would be at the barricaded bedroom door, and, if he had any sense at all, concocting some story to arrange pursuit and extricate himself from an invidious position. I cursed the broken glass again, as he might well have allowed us to escape rather than expose his duplicity, if not for the fact that his employer would be imminently racing to investigate.

There were two garden walls to scale. The first was easy; the magnolia nestled against it giving easy purchase, and Miss Hunter scrabbled over it in her long skirts almost as easily as I. The next wall was more barren. I bunked my partner up onto it, then knotted the rope around the chair back, leapt up onto it, and from there pulled myself up onto the wall. I lowered Miss Hunter, pulled the chair up behind me, then lightly leapt down myself. Still carrying chair, rope and pillows, we raced for the perimeter wall on the wooded side of the rear of the house, me pulling Miss Hunter by the hand to speed her progress.

Mercifully, the servant's were not yet pouring out of their shack at the alarm, but the lights were struck up there, and the vicious dogs patrolling the front of the house were baying too. Blood hammering in my ears, every muscle and sinew burning, I strained every fibre to reach the wall. It loomed up, tall and black, in front of us, as the baying drew nearer.

Again, I wedged the chair against the wall. This time, I climbed upon its seat, pulled Miss Hunter up beside me, then made her take the rope, climb up onto my shoulders, place the stolen pillows over the glass shards topping the wall, and climb onto them.

The dogs were horribly close now. I climbed onto the chair back, holding one end of the rope at arms' length, whilst Miss Hunter lowered herself down the other side of the wall, holding the other end. As I pulled myself on top of the wall, the snarling erupted from the darkness behind me, and an enormous black lurcher seized the heel of my boot in his teeth. I kicked myself free, flinging myself on top of the wall, cutting my shins upon the broken glass in the process. Miss Hunter released the rope, dropping the last few feet, and rolling creditably. The glass preventing me from lowering myself by my fingertips, I would simply have to leap the eighteen feet and pray I did not break my ankle. I glanced behind me before I leapt, and saw shadowy figures racing across the grounds towards the dogs, their shouts just audible to me.

I landed expertly, rolling as Miss Hunter had, and rising unhurt to my feet. We then took to our heels again, racing through the woodland as if the very hounds of hell were upon our tails.

The metaphor was unfortunately more apt than I would have wished. As we crashed through the trees and emerged, still running flat out, on the rolling, remote hills on the far side, I realised that the cacophony of barking, which had been fading, was now no longer becoming quieter. As we hammered along a roughened path, towards a second copse, I realised our chances of reaching civilisation were narrowing. Alongside the yelping and baying of hounds, the sound of whinneys and hoof-beats began also to rise.

Raddison had set his hunt upon us. The same hunt that had, according to my friend the fisherman, killed and eaten a previous victim.

The baying of the hounds was becoming increasingly insistent. I tightened my grasp upon Miss Hunter's hand, dragging her unceremoniously behind me as I half staggered, half sprinted along the path, then through the trees again. By now, I had weighed my several options, and decided there was only one course which enabled us to reliably overtake our pursuers. I headed towards the cliff tops, where they loweringly overhung the sea.

Miss Hunter gasped as she realised our location. We were standing on the edge of a precipitate forty foot drop, the thrum of the waves as they broke beneath us, the water appearing as cold and black and opaque as obsidian from our elevated position. I saw her stare about wildly, searching for an alternative escape, the moonlight illuminating her as the realisation dawned upon her of what I intended next. A look of panic crossed her features, but it was already hardening over, admirable woman, as I began to speak to her;

"Miss Hunter...Violet..." I tried to speak as gently as the circumstances allowed, "We must jump. You must hold your body straight, point your toes and cross your arms across your face. I shall throw you forward to escape the edge". She opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but I saw Raddison on his steaming mount round the edges of the woods, the hounds around him, his men following – he would see us at any moment...

I hissed "now!"

We backed away a few paces, then leapt....

* * *

_I can't quite help thinking of the line "I shall place him in an easily escapable scenario, and leave him poorly attended". Ah well, I don't plead that all my criminals are smarter that the average super-villain!_

_I'm pleased they have got away from Hecate House, but that water does sound cold..._

_Continued in Chapter 43_


	43. Chapter 43: The bolthole

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 43: The bolt-hole**

I augmented Miss Hunter's leap, her arm around my shoulders, as I made my own. I twisted away as we plummeted, crossing my legs, pointing my toes, and holding myself upright as I fell. Only a crazed fool would dive head first into uncertain waters.

The coldness and the immense slap from the water winded me entirely, and I was barely aware at first of kicking my way to the surface. I gasped for air, and looked around me in grave anxiety for my companion. She was nowhere to be seen, and a desolate terror whined through me until I saw the ripples and bubbles, revealing her recent position. I dived downwards, and found her struggling weakly to overcome the dreadful weight of her wet clothes. I was able to pull her up, and swam under the overhang of rocks to shield us from spying eyes from above. She was immensely heavy, but conscious enough, now that she was gulping the freezing air into her lungs, to assist me.

"I apologise, Miss Hunter, but I fear we have a long swim ahead of us." I whispered in her ear as I supported her from behind, a hand under her chin. "You must divest yourself of your outer garments and boots if we are to have a hope of arriving at a place of safety".

I felt her tense for a moment, then her hands flew to the buttons of her gown. Her fingers must have been terribly numb, for she fumbled with them, and several times choked alarmingly and lost concentration as waves washed over her face, but eventually she was kicking her way out of the encumbrance. She was immediately easier to support, dressed only in her underclothing, which I would certainly not tell her to remove. She lifted her feet and unfastened her boots, as I removed my own jacket with my free hand, and kicked off my shoes. By this time, our teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and the fear flashed past me for a moment that we would die of exposure before I could save us. However, I stilled and listened for a few moments, and to my great relief, the shouts of Raddison and his men and the baying of his hounds had grown more distant already.

"Can you swim?"

"A little, Mr Holmes. I fear I may not be able to go very far, nor very quickly"

"I shall continue to assist you. Do you see the small island stack over yonder?"

"Yes, clearly. Is that our destination? – it looks a considerable distance."

I detected the quaver, clear even over the dissonance chattering teeth leant to her voice, but resolutely overcome. It moved me far more than feminine hysterics would, and it was with warmth that I replied;

"You will make it. It is closer than the beach, we do not have to risk being dashed against the rocks, and climbing these cliffs would be treacherous, if not impossible, in the dark. I shall be with you, and even if I were obliged to tow you there unconscious, the swim would be well within my capabilities. With your assistance, we shall be there before you realise. You will manage - you have been so very brave already, my dear, dear girl". I think I surprised myself, as much as her, with those last words.

We struck out. She had understated her ability; she was quite a strong swimmer, and, with her intermittently grasping my belt to be towed along while she kept a firm determined stroke with her legs and free arm, we made excellent progress. The numbing cold regressed somewhat with the strenuous exercise, and the island on the horizon grew larger minute by minute. It took us close on forty minutes to reach it, and we stumbled gratefully up the small sandy beach. Miss Hunter staggered and almost fell, and I read utter exhaustion in her face. Ignoring her weak protests, delivered stammeringly through wildly chattering teeth, I picked her up, feeling her shiver with renewed violence as the cold wind tore at her thin wet petticoats. I cursed the unseasonable cold snap.

Quickly, I rounded the corner, heading for the cove on the lee side of the islet, and my tent, still hopefully intact from my sojourn here with Watson. Clambering over the rocks, I was relieved to discover nothing had been disturbed. The small tent still contained the narrow cot-bed mattress we had sat upon, a large pile of blankets, a package of dried fruit, jerk beef and nuts and several bottles, some filled with beer and some with water. She looked around her, then, surprised, speculated that I must have been here before. I confessed as much, that I had discovered this little safe haven in my reconnaissance of Raddison's territory.

"Surveillance was not its only purpose. I felt it may be of some use to me to have a bolt-hole here. It is but a short row to the woods bordering Raddison's land, where a small, natural harbour may be found, once allowing the casual explorer to bypass the man's security. That is how Watson and I gained access. I see my accomplice has returned my rowing boat, as per my instructions, but it would not be wise to use it now. I am afraid Raddison suspects the route by which we made our previous little incursion, although I hope he does not suspect where we based our assault from."

"Are y-you c-certain? M-might he p-p-pursue us here?"

"He is no sailor. There is no boat house at the manor, and the cliff path was overgrown on my previous invasion. Even if he had an inkling, he would have to locate a craft to borrow, which would involve looking further afield, and I am pleased to state he is unlikely to have time to do so, as he will be kept very fully occupied." I allowed a trace of triumphalism to sneak into my voice at my next sentence.

"Tomorrow morning at dawn, if I have not given a signal to prevent it, a stalwart brigade of Scotland Yarders will descend upon Hecate House and seize the contents of the filing cabinets."

She squeaked in delight. "Oh! Was it them you were signalling to with the lantern before we set off?"

"Yes. A prearranged code, to be received by two of my Irregulars, and relayed to an anticipatory Lestrade. I have not given the stand-down signal, so they will be readying themselves for the assault."

"F-fabulous! Oh, I a-am d-delighted! We d-did this thing!" Her voice was momentarily suffused with delight, then there was a pause, and she asked, attempting to keep her voice casual, but not quite succeeding: "D-dawn you s-say? You d-do not think he m-may hunt us d-down here b-before then?"

"I do not. Currently, if I strain my ears, I can still detect the occasion strain of hound and view halloo on the breeze. He looks for us on land – you will remember we doubled back on ourselves more than once. He will suspect us of doubling back from the cliff top, to continue our escape on land. Even if he suspects us of going into the sea, he will breath a sigh of relief and think us drowned! Such a corpulent individual could doubtless not begin to contemplate the exertion necessary for such a swim. Even should he suspect, and launch an invasion, we would be forewarned by feet crunching upon the shingle, and could push off in our boat. However, I think we had best not risk a fire. The presence of smoke on an ostensibly deserted island may rouse suspicions."

I think she trusted this assessment, but her silhouette, if anything, appeared still more troubled.

"Mr Holmes, I...I am afraid I m-may b-be in a rather worse c-c-case than I am n-now b-before the night is out if I do not find w-w-warmth... and if we c-cannot light a f-f-fire..... I c-cannot seem to stop sh-sh-shaking... c-could we not t-take the boat and r-row it to shore elsewh-where? P-perhaps I would feel less w-w-weak with the ex-exercise?"

"I fear it is a good long row against the tide to reach an accessible berth for our craft that is not on Raddison's land. The rocks are lethal in the dark for miles about, and with nothing in way of spare garments, and with your hair, now grown back almost to its old magnificence, so wet, we would freeze at sea. Tomorrow, we can return with the warmth of daylight on our backs, and for now, we can get you out of your wet clothing, and warmed and dried here".

It was only now that the sense of great awkwardness overwhelmed me, both at the words I had already spoken, and those I was about to say. Had I been with Watson, I would have had no hesitation, and we would have felt no embarrassment that couldn't be dispelled with a ribald joke or two. With a lady as my partner in this enterprise, and a young, unmarried, innocent and very attractive young lady at that, the situation seemed horridly different. However, the truth was unavoidable; we must both of us become warm or perish. Worse, the floor was too cold and damp to settle upon. We would have to share the cot.

I was well acquainted with basic survival tactics, and the answer was obvious, but I was nevertheless certain I could feel Miss Hunter blushing in the semi-darkness and my own voice very nearly betrayed my discomfiture as I struggled for impassivity in my tone.

"We shall have to dry your hair as best as possible and then lie close together on the mattress for bodily warmth. The blankets should be sufficient that we be tolerably comfortable. I am sorry to place you in such a delicate situation, but it really cannot be helped."

"It i-is of n-no consequence, M-Mr Holmes. I p-p-place s-s-survival against m-m-maidenly pride" she replied, with a touch of brave humour. I felt that odd, fluttering warmth again, but I firmly dispelled it.

"I suggest you remove your remaining garments, and rub yourself dry as best you can with your hands alone. I can wring out your petticoat and you can use it to rub down your hair. Then wrap yourself in one thin blanket, I shall do likewise with the other, and we shall use the thicker blanket to cover both of us. I am an ass to have not provided some spare clothing, but I packed very little for our trip and did not strongly envisage making this trip _sans bateux_."

"H-how is it th-then that your b-b-boat is already here?"

"Left here by a local fisherman – a splendid phlegmatic fellow, whose natural taciturnity may be greatly enhanced with metallic encouragement. His boat is a familiar sight around these coasts, and I could have asked him to deposit me here easily enough, then waited for my opportunity to explore by night."

During this conversation, Miss Hunter had removed her underclothing, throwing the garments at me, and using the interchange to distract her from her embarrassment. I felt my mouth become rather dry as I heard the soft rasping sounds of her hands vigorously rubbing her skin, and I squeezed the moisture from the linen with rather unnecessary violence.

She came in front of me and took it back, now wrapped demurely enough in the blanket, but with her white shoulders still on display. She sat on the mattress leaning forward, and energetically rubbed her hair with the petticoat until it was no more than damp. I then wrung out the petticoat again, and spread it out to dry. I performed the same office for my own clothing and painfully goose-fleshed torso, and wrapped myself in the other blanket. I discovered my hip flask, still intact in my pocket, and we shared a good draft of the fiery liquor. I then asked, with a formality absurd in the circumstances:

"May I join you, Miss Hunter?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes"

"We must maximise the surface area of our bodies in close proximity, to extract the maximum degree of warmth from each other."

"Very well, Mr Holmes"

"We should also eat some of this food, unexciting as it appears, to replenish the energy we have expended through flight and cold."

"Yes, Mr Holmes"

It was the strangest meal I have ever eaten. Both stiltedly formal, in a manner quite unknown to each other heretofore, curled up close like spoons, and hidden under the blanket, whilst I reached over her to help myself to the dried food, water and beer. Her speech gradually returned to normal and her shivering stilled.

"Are you warmer now?"

"Yes, I am fairly comfortable, although I would rather appreciate a toothbrush, hairbrush and feather bed at this moment," murmured Miss Hunter, her customary prosaic nature and humour re-established, when we had resolutely chomped our way to our fill.

"And I should commit murder for a pipe and some tobacco."

"Most irksome for you. I must make it clear that I have no tobacco, nor knowledge of its whereabouts on this island, in order to ensure you do not commit violence upon my person."

"Very wise."

"I am remarkably sleepy, Mr Holmes. I am drifting off, I fear – I am afraid my after dinner conversation is not up to much."

"It has been exemplary under the circumstances. Goodnight, Miss Hunter."

She was asleep before she even managed to reply. I had intended to stay awake and alert, despite my earlier reassurances, but the enormous exertions of the day, too many previous nights of little sleep, the brandy, and the warmth and necessity for keeping still occasioned by the close proximity of Miss Hunter dulled my senses sufficiently that the beckoning of Morpheus became most insistent. I am afraid I too drifted off, unthinkingly inhaling deeply, enveloping myself in the scent that was peculiarly Violet's, and that no amount of salt water could entirely expunge.

* * *

_By Jove, how awfully scandalous! Never mind, I'm sure two such stalwart individuals will rise above this rather degrading scenario._

_I hope the danger is over._

_However, I worry that the cold calculating machine is starting to display some rather uncharacteristic use of language... _

_Reviews remain very, very welcome.... thanks for getting me into the 100s everybody!_

_Chapter 44 on the way._


	44. Chapter 44: Light and Shade

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 44: Light and shade**

It was approximately ten minutes to six o'clock in the morning. I knew this, despite my pocket watch not having survived the immersion, as the grey dawn was stealing steadily over the silver ocean, yet the sun was still some way below the horizon. I moodily watched its progress, the lightening sky at variance with my sinking spirits. The emotions warring in my breast were as uncomfortable as they were unaccustomed.

Admittedly, one predominant emotion was an old, familiar enemy; dark tendrils creeping around my soul, spreading the vile black clouds of depression, threatening to pull me down into their poisonous embrace.

Then joyful elation, battling the darkness with light. However, my conscience was not allowing the light to win.

Guilt.

Guilt, possibly the most crushing of human emotions. If I always saw my depressive spells as an external phenomenon, the guilt was a rot from within. Inside my brain, it fought with a small, plaintive voice arguing that, indeed, there were worse sins in the world, and that I had been caught in that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness, where normal conduct is suspended and instinct triumphs, when I had begun the particular sin that now tortured my conscience. I sternly discounted the voice.

"_Let me once in my life feel how much I am to blame_." I muttered, the words familiar from some mostly forgotten corner of my brain-attic. How many times had I admonished a client for improper conduct? How often had I insisted that emotion interfered with logic, and should be avoided?

My shirt and trousers were still damp, and the cold, salty air stung my skin. I welcomed the discomfort as I might a hair shirt. I focussed upon it, and attempted to use it to sharpen my mind, to attempt to consider this rather knotty problem more rationally.

I had behaved most improperly towards Violet. Hopeless to call her Miss Hunter; formality was rather pointless under the circumstances. I had not compromised her _entirely_, I was not so far lost to common decency as all that. However, I had certainly committed indiscretions that would expose her to scorn and shame if they were ever discovered by the world at large. My present transgression had seemed to magnify those of my past, and, for the first time, made me feel steeped in sin for activities I had previously regarded as the mere satisfying of an appetite with a suitable partner.

Watson has often described me as an automaton, and doubtless presumes my hitherto indifference to women is also inexperience. However, I have not been inexperienced since I was seventeen, when a predatory actress I played alongside, who had an eye for a pretty youth, taught me the art of satisfying her needs. I have since lived a varied life, and am still a young man with a young man's appetites. I had found numerous advantages in having had the acquaintance of several women of various classes, the majority of whom were preoccupied with extracting their own pleasure from our liaisons, initially by instruction, and later, by following my lead. I had never previously been ashamed of this, feeling a certain impatience with the pruderies of our age, and knowing that I was never toying with an innocent. Now, my own arrogance in setting my own rules seemed despicable, and I could understand why society insisted upon celibacy outside the confines of marriage. If I were as uninitiated as some of those who attended Raddison's private clinic, for example, possibly the unfamiliarity of certain sensations would have brought me sharply to my senses.

I felt I must have been _out_ of my senses for some time. I could not deny that Violet had insinuated herself into my very heart and soul, disturbing the smooth workings of my mind. To use Watson's fanciful phraseology, she was a whole handful of grit in a currently _very_ sensitive machine. With a lowering sense of inevitability, I admitted to myself that I had harboured strong feelings for her for months, possibly years. The sight of the grin she flashed me as she brandished a wielded chair-leg. The ease of conversation when she joined me on surveillance. Her laughter where hysterics may often have been the more apposite response. Her intelligence. Her kindness. Her pragmatism. A hundred memories hammered themselves into my reluctant brain all at once, staggering me with the evidence of my own blindness. It was enormously incongruous, but could not be denied. This case had brought the whole sorry business to a head.

My eyes narrowed sharply. I remembered the nagging impressions that I had had repeatedly in Hecate House; that I was missing something, overlooking some detail, possibly vital. The case had seemed simple enough. But now I had finally accepted that I had been working under a powerful distracting influence, was there more to it? Would I arrive back ashore, and discover a hole in my plans?

Firmly, I set my unwelcome and rampaging emotions to one side, and concentrated my mind upon the unadulterated facts and events. However, a powerful interruption occurred when a figure, clad in white petticoats and wrapped in a blanket, flopped itself down next to me upon the rocks. The sure, deft exertions of my brain shattered, like reflections upon water when a stone is cast into them, and the fragments of memory flew apart yet again. The disturbing shadow they had been about to cast was temporarily forgotten: but it was none the less sinister for that.

* * *

_**Holmes**__! As one of my kind reviewers put it, this behaviour is __**very**__ incongruous. Things have been left deliberately vague - what did happen? Up to you! _

_I do apologise to those of you who quite justifiably dislike any matchmaking with our matchless detective. Part of my challenge to myself when I started this story was to see if I could do it convincingly (as it often really annoys me, and it is one of the most difficult things to do without turning Holmes into another character entirely), yet part of the reason this chapter has taken so long to post has been my nervous prevaricating in case I totally disappoint some of my favourite readers! It would have been cowardly to back out at this point though. __I should beg "Please don't leave me!" – but please don't worry too much either, as I hope you know my methods by now – and there is method in it. I couldn't have Holmes behaving so unlike himself if I didn't have a purpose for it, could I?..._

_We'll get back to some proper, unadulterated plot soon. I'm not sure I like the sound of those disturbing fragments of memory..._

_I will still appreciate your reading and reviewing, and will take any criticism on the chin._

_Erm...those of you who don't like Holmes matchmaking, please skip to chapter 45 and don't read the blurb below. _

_For those of you who actually __**do**__ like a bit of Holmes matchmaking, there is a rather obvious missing chapter here. It has been written, but I REALLY didn't want to post it here. Suffice it to say I blushed furiously when I wrote it, and it is not in my normal vein... in fact it is more than a little bit... rude! I will probably post it to another location in the near future, but if anybody would like to read it in the meantime, log in and send me a personal message, **plus the assurance that you are an adult** – I'd be flattered and delighted to send it to you. Please don't be embarrassed – it's the sort of thing I'd probably do!_


	45. Chapter 45: Sense and Sunrise

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 45: Sense and Sunrise**

"Good morning." Violet spoke crisply, without obvious constraint.

"Good morning, Violet." I croaked. I found myself unable to meet her eyes. She did not seem unduly troubled by this, and again, spoke quite naturally.

"You look a little subdued. Can I assume I am in some manner responsible for this?"

"You are _involved_, certainly. I fear the _responsibility_ lies with me." My fingers scrabbled over the shingled ground, and I automatically skimmed the stone I found over the placid surface of the water. We both watched it bounce. Nine. Not bad.

"I am intrigued," said Violet, as the stone sunk beneath the surface, "as to how you have reached that conclusion. For what reason has my autonomy been superseded?"

I turned to face her, daring to return her clear, steady gaze. "I fear I have compromised you, Violet. I am truly sorry..."

"...I am not." She interrupted. "I am sorry if I am spoiling your orgy of remorse, but do you not feel you are being a little overdramatic?"

"I am not sure you fully understand." I spluttered, but she laughed at me. I was startled into silence.

"Oh, Holmes, I may be inexperienced in worldly matters, but I am not entirely naive. If the governors at my school, or polite society in general, were to discover that I had spent the night alone upon an isolated island in your company, certainly my reputation would be in tatters. A similar result could be expected if I were to find myself unwed and with child. Are either of these eventualities remotely likely?"

"Well, no, not at all, but..."

"Precisely. You are experiencing these agonies of spirit now because you are a gentleman, and you feel you have besmirched me in some fashion. You would be better employed in using your famous logic and reasoning. As I said, you are a gentleman, so you will not brag of our adventure. You have in no way placed me at risk of, shall we say, lasting consequences, biological or otherwise, of our stay here. You worry that I shall be emotionally compromised, that I am likely to pine away out of love for you. Well, Holmes, I really am very fond of you, but I hope I have a little more sense than to read too much into the situation, coming as it did after such an emotionally charged ordeal. It seems a very normal reaction." I opened my mouth to reply, yet she cut me off again, almost fiercely. "Sherlock Holmes, I can see in your face you are about to argue with me. Please do not. Especially please do not think you have to do anything to restore my honour. Do _not_ offer for me. I would be mortified to think of being married for such a reason as that."

Violet got to her feet, and began to walk away. She then turned back, to smile at me, and hold out her hand to me. "Come along, Holmes. Let us not mention anything about it until we get back to reality. You will be quite chilled through, and we have yet to conclude the business with Raddison. I am impatient to discover the next chapter."

She was correct, of course. If her equanimity remained undisturbed, what right did I have to continue to agonise? I took her hand, and she pulled me to my feet, then led me off the beach towards the cove. With a heart made lighter from relief, but also, if I was honest with myself, with a sense of emptiness, I composed myself, and followed her.

In a very few moments, we were pushing the rowing boat off from the island. The sun had risen, and the sea was stained a glorious blend of fiery orange and magenta, whilst light pink clouds edged with gold skudded across a powder blue sky. Lestrade and his men would be storming Hecate House at this very moment. Ignoring all extraneous disturbances, we struck out, to harvest the fruit of our endeavours.

* * *

_Violet remains unflappable! Good to see Holmes back on track. Back to Hecate House!_

_Please R&R_


	46. Chapter 46: The cat in the bag

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 46: The cat in the bag**

The beach below Hecate House was peaceful. However, I still ascended with caution, insisting Violet remained in the boat, lest my plan have misfired and a rapid escape be in order. Lying flat on my stomach, I silently surveyed the copse, the lawns, the building itself, a mellow sheen upon its brickwork in the morning sunshine.

A solitary policeman wandered across the lawn, no wariness in his gait. Reassured at the sight, I scrabbled back down the cliff path, lifted Violet out of the boat and onto dry land, ignoring her protests that she could manage unassisted, and drew our boat in to moor. We set off on foot, to rejoin Lestrade.

As we made our way across the lawns, the sturdy constable I had earlier noted turned sharply towards us, and rapped out;

"Who goes there?" in peremptory tones.

"Sherlock Holmes and Miss Violet Hunter." I replied, and a beam of relief crossed the rather ruddy countenance.

"Well, Sor, Inspector Lestrade will be roight relieved to see you, I should think. He was afeared you were drowned."

"Almost, Constable." I replied with a smile. "We had to make a hasty and unceremonious exit, which did involve getting rather wet, as you can probably see. I would appreciate the opportunity to fetch my spare boots and a pair of warm socks, and I would imagine the lady would appreciate a hot bath and a change of clothes."

I allowed my voice to sharpen at this point, as the constable was looking rather askance at our bare feet and unusual attire. Violet, usually so composed, was plainly embarrassed. The man recalled himself.

"Of course. If you'll come wi' me, Sor, Miss, to see the Inspector, and then I'm sure we'll be able to sort something out."

"I shall come to see Inspector Lestrade unaccompanied." I stated, with all the authority I could summon in my tone. "Miss Hunter will not wish to be paraded _en dishabille_ throughout the house. We have been staying here, and she has spare clothes in our chambers. They will be vacated whilst she repairs herself?"

"Of course, of course." He amended, gruffly.

Violet cast me a speaking look of gratitude as we set off towards the front door. As we entered, I instructed our companion, who had finally remember to introduce himself as Constable Trelawny, to conduct Violet to her room and clear a path for her. She went with him surprisingly meekly.

I set out to find Lestrade.

The inspector was standing in conversation with a tall, spare man, obviously a doctor by trade from the smell of iodine lingering about his person and the omnipresent black bag. They turned at my entrance, and, to do him credit, Lestrade looked overjoyed.

"Thank God! I should have known Mr Sherlock Holmes would not have let so paltry a thing as drowning clip his wings. Is the lady with you? We were severely worried, I can tell you, when we found a lady's dress and your greatcoat floating in the sea."

I shook hands with the man, and he exclaimed;

"But you're half frozen, man! And your feet! Don't they hurt?"

I glanced down rather disinterestedly at my extremities. I suppose they were rather bruised and cut up, but for now, I was more interested in the outcome of the raid.

"They can wait. Perhaps one of your men will fetch me a pair of socks presently, but I shall do for now. What news? Did you find my buried treasure?"

"We certainly did, Mr Holmes." He answered, rather grimly. "That filing cabinet holds enough to put many a head inside a noose. The circumstantial evidence alone is enough to convict Raddison and this Castling character, but, for whatever idiotic reason the beauty had to write everything down, he's shored everything for up us right and good. I'll never fathom why otherwise sensible criminals would want to set themselves up like that."

"Which is just as well, Lestrade. If you did understand, perhaps you would be on your way towards a criminal mentality yourself."

The little inspector gave a barking laugh.

"Well, I suppose we should be thankful for gloating and bragging. It's added many a plump bird to our bag. Cowardice and back-stabbing be praised also. The minnows have jumped into your net as well."

"Indeed? Do you have amongst them a Conrad, Bert, Alf, Dave and Dan?"

"The lovely lot who pasted the Doctor, eh?" Lestrade could be almost sharp on occasion. He is the best of Yarders, not that that means a great deal.

"Indeed. How is he, by the way?"

"Your landlady telegraphed your little Morris – he's not quite stout yet, but mending well." I sighed with relief, as Lestrade continued, flipping out his ever-present notepad, and finding the page. "Hm. We don't have a Dave. We have all the others, including Castling, who's being kept in a different room, with that slimy Robinson."

"Ah. The vile Robinson. You got him then."

"In the bag, Sir. He's a deep one, though. Seems to be smirking at something."

"I'm sure we'll find what it is out soon enough."

"We will if the behaviour of some of the others so far is anything to go by. Started squealing the instant they saw the uniforms. Bert and Alf particularly were shrieking _we didn't have nuffin to do wiv no murders_ when the Derbies were clapped on them." Lestrade's voice held an odd mix of grim pleasure and disgust. The Yarders despised a Grass as much as anybody, despite their use for him.

I was disappointed by the absence of one of the two ruffians who had helped injure my dear friend, then tied him up in that strangle-hold. It was unlikely we would be unable to hunt him down though.

"Raddison and his wife?" I managed to keep the excitement in my tone to a minimum.

"Raddison's in a bit of a bad way. Went off in apoplexy when we took him. Doctor's been with him since, but I expect he'll live to the assizes. Mrs Raddison though, I'd be surprised if she's involved."

"Oh? I would say she's in it up to her neck. At least, she spies for Raddison, of that I'm quite certain. Why would you doubt her involvement?"

"The look on her face when we told her what was going on. Never seen anybody so shocked. Just whispered '_No, no, no, he wouldn't, not my husband, my husband's a great man_,' over and over. I have to say, I'm not generally soft, but it quite went to my heart. When we told her he'd had apoplexy, and the servants had confessed, she fainted away. Weeping uncontrollably when she came to. She's lain down upon a sofa now."

"Hm." I said, sceptically. "You will forgive me, Lestrade, if I believe her to be an accomplished actress. Well well, there is time for her later. If Raddison is incapacitated, I would like to speak to Castling next. I have not had the pleasure of meeting him yet, and I have been looking forward to it."

"Nothing easier."

"Perhaps a quick mending of my attire first? I feel the air of authority is improved by clean linen and covered feet."

Lestrade agreed. I knocked on the door to our room, announcing myself, and Violet opened it, clad in a warm dressing gown, a pair of my woollen socks upon her feet as she waited for bath water. I chuckled at the sight.

"You look like an infant. Mind if I borrow the bathroom to change? I have villains to interrogate, which I shall do better if I am tidy. A cold water shave will suffice."

"The geiser is on. There should be a little hot. What news?" Her face was eager as ever. I found myself smiling unconsciously as I looked at it.

"Almost the best. One minor player has escaped so far. Raddison is ill, but is expected to recover." I continued to call my news to her from the bathroom. "Lestrade thinks George Robinson is up to something, but several of the birds are singing, so I imagine we shall soon discover what it is. The main fly in the ointment is that Mrs Raddison has put on such a convincing display of the wronged wife that even Lestrade is inclined to be sympathetic."

"Oh, no! She's not likely to get away with it, is she?"

"I doubt it. The spectre of a rope, or a long spell of imprisonment, is likely to have a lubricating effect upon many a tongue. If she is involved, someone will surely betray her."

"I certainly hope so."

"Bloodthirsty little thing, aren't you?"

She laughed in response. I rapidly finished my shave, meticulously cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair and repaired the deficiencies of my dress, choosing a severe black suit rather than country tweeds. I winced slightly as I pulled shoes over my newly-warmed and battered toes, but interviewing hardened criminals in slippers was not an option. I felt more my usual self as I stepped from the bathroom, and my self assurance, so dented by the events of the night, was returning, along with the matchless excitement of leading a case to the conclusion.

Violet inspected me as I emerged.

"You look frighteningly impressive, of course. I'm sure they will wilt in the heat of your gaze." She was sitting upon the bed, her feet tucked under the quilt. She grinned at me, and, without really thinking about it, as I left the room I dropped a chaste kiss upon her forehead and grinned back at her.

"Wish me luck!" I called over my shoulder. I did not really believe in luck, but I appreciated her shouted compliance as I headed towards the stairs.

Lestrade was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. He rolled his eyes and laughed at me.

"I don't think I'd manage to look that dapper if I worked on it for a week. How do you achieve that in a quarter-hour?"

"Natural advantages." I answered with a shrug.

Lestrade led me to one of the upper floor bedrooms. Two stalwart constables were standing guard. The Inspector unlocked the end-door, and I stepped through to finally meet James Castling.

When the man looked up at me, I knew instantly something was amiss, and I knew in a moment the memory would come to me.

"Good morning, Mr Castling." Said Lestrade, conversationally. "This here is Mr Sherlock Holmes. He has come to talk to you about you part in these murders."

The man turned sullen, dark eyes upon me. "I've had nothin' to do with no murders." He growled, and the stunning realisation of _what_ was wrong caught my breath in my throat. _This was not James Castling's voice. _This was the voice of Dave or Dan, the thugs who had jeeringly tied up Watson.

The missing element; that elusive, nagging sensation that I was missing something, suddenly consolidated. I remembered the injured Watson, speaking to me of his ordeal.

"_He is only a small man, but he has ... a soulless, cold pair of _almost completely colourless eyes_ that I can hardly imagine expressing any emotion save cruelty and lust_."

I spun to face Lestrade.

"This is not James Castling. Where is Mrs Raddison?"

Lestrade blinked in surprise. "Not.... why, she's in a first floor parlour. Left at the bottom of the stairs, third door on the right. She asked to be settled there, after she fainted."

I turned, and bolted down the stairs. I vaguely heard Lestrade barking instructions behind me, but ignored him, as I ignored the pain in my feet.

I harshly ordered the constable on guard at the door to let me into the parlour.

It was empty.

Breathing heavily, I looked around the room. A compartment under the window sill had been rifled. The curtains flapped in the breeze coming through the open window. My eye was drawn to a narrow cupboard in the corner of the room, and I wrenched it open. There was a listening tube inside.

Lestrade appeared in the doorway, his mouth agape. I turned to him, trying to control my anger.

"As you see, Lestrade, one of our birds has flown. Unfortunately, I think she may be one of our biggest and most important – I would not be surprised if she and Mr James Castling are one and the same person. I take it you have commandeered the large sitting room for you headquarters?" He nodded, dumbly. "When might she have left?"

"We raided the house at first light. She's been in there nearly four hours. She asked not to be disturbed, and with all the other ado..."

"Yes, yes. So she has a good head start. Now think, man. This is a listening tube; I am certain it will eavesdrop upon the large sitting room. Could you have said anything useful or compromising?"

Lestrade's expression of dawning horror told me what I needed to know before he spoke. Sick dread clutched me, as he answered, hoarsely;

"I believe you were mentioned. Very early on, when we first put her in there. And... we mentioned Baker Street."

Oh, God. Please, no.

_Watson._

* * *

_Argh! And it had looked like the tension was over! Has the escapee overheard the identity of her troublesome guest?_

_Continued in Chapter 47!_

_Please read and review._


	47. Chapter 47: I'll Huff and I'll Puff

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 47: I'll Huff and I'll Puff**

I suppressed my initial visceral reaction. I had no proof that Mrs Raddison/James Castling was contemplating a visit of vengeance to Baker Street. I was indulging in emotive speculation. I shook my head to clear it. _Think, Holmes!_ I apostrophised myself.

First, I analysed why I was so certain that Mrs Raddison and James Castling were one and the same individual.

The voices. It was very well done; both voices sounded sufficiently different to fool an adept observer. However, I have a certain affinity for these matters, and was able to recall those unavoidable similarities of cadence between the evilly silky voice I had overheard in the outhouse, and the calm, cold tones from the dining room.

The description Watson had given me of the colourless eyes, the pub landlady referring to him as "a nice enough boy", suggesting a smooth cheek, and the good Mrs Whitney speaking of "soft hands", added strength to my deduction. The most astonishing feature was that I had not realised the connection sooner.

Other observations, not considered important at the time, now came back to me. Violet had been repulsed by Mrs Raddison. Nancy and Watson had not mentioned her. Suddenly, the likelihood occurred to me that she had not been there. I had noted at the time that it was odd of Raddison to abandon searching for Emily so quickly, but disregarded it, thinking that in all probability he had left a competent lieutenant behind him in the guise of Mrs Raddison, ready to sniff out any fresh clues.

Next, I delved again into the layers of unwonted chaos within my usually orderly mind, to retrieve what other fragments I had missed. As they floated to the surface, the picture of the hierarchy at Hecate House seamlessly and disturbingly rearranged itself into an entirely new picture.

I thought of the note in the unfamiliar hand, thrust between the sections in the filing cabinet, where Raddison could not fail to encounter it;

"_R.e. photographs of E.R. and G.R. Just to remind you: there are copies._"

I had assumed the note referred to Emily and George Rangaford. One should never make assumptions, I upbraided myself savagely. Mrs Raddison referred to her husband as "Teddy", a contraction usually deriving from Edward. If, then, E.R. was Edward Rangaford, the tone of the note took on a potentially threatening complexion. The likely explanation was obvious now, as was the real identity of G.R. Somebody keen to discover the location of certain photographs without telling his employers. Somebody now sitting smirking in a room with a man whose assumed identity he must know to be a fraud. Somebody who had shown an affinity for photographic depravity.

I remembered the look of weary, resigned bitterness that had crossed Rangaford's face as he told me the man was "a most obliging fellow." The final, elusive fragment slotted into place as I realised why he had looked familiar to me from the first. The sensuous face, lined with a sultry cruelty, bore a strong resemblance to another member of this household. It was a familial resemblance, and not an actual one, that I had sub-consciously observed.

This reverie did not occupy more than six seconds of my time. During this brief interval, Lestrade had stood, fidgeting from foot to foot and awaiting instructions. I now turned to him, and snapped;

"I shall need to speak to George Robinson. I believe he will be able to shed more than a little light on this situation. In the meantime, please despatch a messenger, with all exigency, to the Post Office to send an urgent telegram to Watson and the Yard. We should still have time, if Mrs Raddison is aware of my identity, to forestall any attempts at retribution. The Paddington train will not arrive for another hour yet. If such is her intention, your men should be able to recapture her at the station, if you furnish them with her description."

"Right away, Mr Holmes." Replied Lestrade, in his habitual clipped, efficient tones, sticking his head around the door, and seeing to my instructions with commendable brevity.

We then returned to the locked bedroom with our two captives.

"I suggest we separate these two. I would imagine 'Dave' is less innovative than his colleague, and I would prefer him to have no useful prompting to assist him. We can return to him later. Robinson is our first concern."

Two constables led the worm into a room further along the corridor, and unceremoniously thrust him into a chair. Robinson bent his sultry expression upon me again.

"I didn't guess you went in for this sort of thing, Mr Johnson!" He declared sweetly, holding up his manacled hands.

"I go in for few of the things you appear to imagine, but perhaps many things you do not." I hissed, leaning forward menacingly. "I am not the weak creature you imagine. In case you are unaware, my name is Sherlock Holmes – ah, I see you have heard of me. Your sister did not convey my identity to you before her departure?"

Robinson's involuntary start of surprise told me I was correct in my surmise. Mrs Raddison had had to be female relative of some description, and I had chosen sister as the most likely.

"Just so." I murmured. I allowed my eyes to glitter, and my face to take on an expression I knew to be feral. "Now. Are you going to tell me what purpose she has for you? I would imagine it is a contingency plan, and that you have rehearsed it in advance, in case your schemes were ever discovered." He merely looked sullen and defiant. I decided to turn the screw a little. "Allow me to sketch an outline for you, Robinson. Your sister knows her activities are highly illegal. However, they are also deeply profitable, and she has taken care to avoid her name being directly mentioned in her guise as Mrs Raddison. Very convenient, that her alter-ego of James Castling should take the blame for the crimes committed under her aegis."

Again, I saw that subtle widening of the eyes, and now a little fear creeping into the face. I continued my summary, my voice soft, honeyed, and infinitely threatening.

"Unfortunately, I am aware of that little deception. It will not be hard to prove. You sister has made herself notorious enough that witnesses may be found to testify to her true identity, and then she will not have the power to assist you escape the full force of justice." Considering that a good part of my speech consisted of speculation and bluff, it was having the desired effect upon Robinson. He was starting to sweat, and his superior sneer lacked conviction.

Feeling my way, watching him carefully for the give-away mannerisms that let me know when I was on the right track, I went on.

"You and that simpleton David have evidently been given the job of covering her retreat. When she has retrieved her emergency resources, doubtless she has promised she will assist you. What have you been promised? Keep quiet, serve a few years, then leave gaol a rich man?" Yes, that was it. The little flicker of the eyelids, affirming my suggestion. "You really are naive, aren't you?" I asked. "We have already wired ahead with her description. Aha!" His nostrils had flared slightly in triumph. "So you do not believe she will be caught by that means. Why is that?" He clamped his mouth shut. I decided it was time to severely frighten him.

"You have three options." I transformed my voice into a bored drawl. "Either you tell me why you believe she will not be caught in that way, or I go to David, tell him what I already know, and inform him it is a confession from you – I am sure he will squeal very quickly in return when I tell him he has been directly implicated in murder – or I ask Inspector Lestrade and these two excellent constables to leave us alone together. You will remember I am not the official force. I am also aware of the methods your sister has used to extract information from her hapless victims in the past. Know that I consider them exceedingly crude. There are _exquisitely_ more advanced means of obtaining a confession."

I had frightened him now, no doubt. He only needed that small extra push.

"Do you imagine your sister is going to wait to help you?" I asked. "Her type does not do so. Trust me, I have studied the criminal mind my entire adult life. Indeed, why would you think it, when she had to buy your loyalty with photographs of you and her husband? You thought when you posed for them that they would just be used against him, didn't you? Nasty shock for you, that she had control of both of you. She has betrayed you once – she will not help you now. You see, she has added extra leverage. You are named as an assistant in at least one of the most severe crimes."

It was the truth, if one took a moral rather than legal stance, and considered rape as almost equivalent to murder. I saw that Robinson had assumed I referred to a more capital offence, and the panic immediately shone in his eyes.

"I never! I never had anything to do with no murders! It's a lie!"

I regarded him judiciously.

"I believe you. You had best talk to me."

He stared, wild-eyed all around him for a moment, then laughed, hysterically.

"You'll have a job to catch her. She thinks of everything. She has three separate families in her pay in the village. They'll have been bribed to take out the telegram facilities from here to Little Taddington. She'll be off the train and disappearing before anyone can stop her! She's got money and people in London – she'll be able to go her length. You'd better watch yourself, Mr Sherlock Holmes. She won't thank you for killing her golden goose – she'll want to cook yours. And I _do _know she knew who you were – she told me. You see, you can listen to all the rooms through the pipes – but you can speak by them too."

A little of the defiance came back to his face as he spoke. I had little time for him though. My mind seemed petrified by the knowledge that she had quite possibly cut off our means of signalling to Baker Street the need for caution. In an abominable circle, I had returned to the fears that had assailed me before I foresaw the need for this interview.

Wordlessly, I left the room, a worried Lestrade in my wake, and headed down the stairs to the hallway.

"Hopefully Constable Samways will have cycled on to the next village..." he began, optimistically, but the words died on his lips at the site of that deliberate official strolling through the front door.

"Oi am afraid the telegrams is out of order, Inspector." He reported sagaciously.

"Could you not have set forth for another Post Office?" Wailed Lestrade, fury and dismay in his countenance.

"Oi thought Oi 'ad best inform you of the circumstance of the telegrams being out of order first." Replied the Constable, stolidly.

With an ejaculation of impatience, Lestrade bellowed for two more Constables to join him.

"You lot. Our Mrs Raddison, who has been allowed to escape, is a most dangerous criminal. She has, in all probability, sabotaged as many of the neighbouring telegraph facilities as she is able, to prevent our signalling her description to London. It is vital that you go _and find a working telegraph machine and deliver the message – keep bloody going until you do, don't come snivelling back here to tell me 'I can't!'"_

The constables practically fell over each other in their haste to obey. I set off hurriedly in their wake.

"Where are you going, Mr Holmes?" Asked Lestrade.

"Baker Street." I called over my shoulder. "I should just make the next train if I run the whole way cross-country."

Lestrade did not try to stop me. I reached the station blown, but in time to jump upon the next Paddington train.

I spent the journey almost tearing myself apart in a frenzy of impatience, despite this being a fast train. I arrived at the station. There was a police presence at the exit – Lestrade must have got a telegram through. I intimidated the young constable at the gate sufficiently to let me bypass the checks, and hailed a cab, pledging a guinea to the man if he beat my erstwhile record time in arriving at Baker Street. I leapt from the cab to discover all was quiet.

Cautiously, I reached into my inside pocket, and withdrew a serviceable little revolver I had collected – so long ago – on leaving my room to interview my prey. I quietly opened the front door and set off up the stairs.

Outside our sitting room, I paused and listened for sounds within. Nothing.

I hurled the door open, and burst into the room, revolver at the ready. It was empty. The couch had recently been lain on. Discarded blankets stood upon the floor, and a half-empty glass upon the side table, complete with an interrupted card game. _Whist_, my brain supplied automatically.

A noise made me spin around. From behind the chair, the red haired apparition of Charlie sat up and groaned. He was very pale, and there was a patch of matted blood upon his right temple.

"_Mr Holmes!_" He whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "The gentry-mort! She's took the Doctor. She came in wiv a gun, tole 'im to get up, an' whacked me over the head. I couldn't do nuffin about it. They're gone!"

* * *

_Argh! We've come full circle since the ending of the last chapter, but this time it's worse! Where has Mrs Raddison taken Watson? More in Chapter 48._

_I was reading through my earlier chapters again, and I noticed I have unaccountably missed off half of Chapter 13. I have now rectified this, and I do feel it helps the earlier parts of the story hang together. Better late than never, if you want to read it!_

_For those of you who wanted to read the missing chapter from the island, it's to be found at:_

http:// eyebrows2 . livejournal . com /

_(You need to fill in the spaces – the site won't let me post the address because of the spam filter).__ I don't recommend the chapter if you're a purist!_


	48. Chapter 48: A hard bargain

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 48: A hard bargain**

Charlie's voice seemed to be coming from far away. I felt as if I had been split into two halves: the one absorbed and understood the ghastly implications of the boy's words, the other half, which was uppermost, was spectating from far, far away, understanding nothing. I must have been staring ahead of me, glassy eyed, because the next thing I knew, Charlie was tugging at my sleeve, and whispering;

"Guv'nor?"

In a trice, I was back in the room, and my mind began turning again. First, the child was injured.

"It's alright, Charlie. We'll get the Doctor back. I know you could have done nothing more. Come here, let me examine that wound."

He shook his head, about to refuse, but the motion made him dizzy, and he staggered sideways. I laid him upon the sofa. As I did so, I noticed a letter, addressed to me, upon the cushions. I recognised the hand, and I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I gently probed Charlie's skull. He would do.

"Nothing broken, Charlie, just a concussion I would imagine. Stay a minute, and I shall clean you up; I just wish to establish what this harridan has to say to me: there may be some urgency about the matter."

I slit open the envelope, and extracted a letter in the same hand – that which I had last seen stating that there were copies of the photographs of G.R. and E.R. Certain passages, evidently considered important, were underlined for emphasis.

I recognised at a glance that the whole epistle had been written upon the train, presumably prior to her ever reaching London – this reassured me minutely – more carelessness – had a message got through to the police in time to catch her at the station, she would have wanted as few incriminating items upon her person as possible.

I began to read:

_My Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,_

_ I am very much afraid you have inconvenienced my husband considerably. You have removed an important source of income from our family, and it shall not do. I am unwilling to substitute my current lifestyle for a paltry alternative. However, as you will by now have guessed, I have an important bargaining chip._

_ Much as I would like to slowly and painfully remove your friend's intrusive presence from this earth, I shall forgo this privilege in exchange for my means of making a good living. I wish for the photographs and the other rather valuable investments within the locker whose key you have stolen._

_ I am aware that we do not trust each other, so I have a proposal for you. I have devised a method of exchange – my property for yours – where all opportunities for either of us to renege on our side of the bargain are nullified._

_At __six o'clock this evening__, you shall wait for me in the __main entrance hall at Kings Cross Station__. I shall bring your friend along in a bath chair. He shall not be in any fit state to assist you, but will be able to demonstrate that he is alive. __Place this letter upon the bulletin board__, and move away – I shall collect and inspect it. I shall wheel him to the lockers, keeping a short distance away from you. I shall be ready to kill him at any moment if you make any false moves. _

_You shall remove the contents of __locker number 983__, and place them in a plain bag. You shall then proceed to __platform 4__, and we shall all board the __1814 express__to Bristol__, on the __second class carriage next but one to first class__. __I __shall board by the __right hand door, facing the train__, and shall remain standing by your friend, next to the door. __You__ shall board by the __left hand door__, and make your way down the carriage towards us. _

_As the train begins to move, __I shall open a vein in your friend's wrist__, then step away from him, __move towards the door, and hold my empty hands up__. You shall move to __the window equidistant between the door and your friend__. I shall __open the door__, and __you shall throw out the bag. As you do so, I shall jump__, and you shall be carried away upon the train for long enough that I may make my escape. If you see to your friend quickly enough, you should easily be able to prevent him from bleeding to death, but I do not recommend wasting your time in pursuit._

_I have taken precautions to prevent you from engaging any allies to recapture myself and your friend. You __will be tailed wherever you go. Do not attempt to approach or capture your tail__. They know nothing but to send me coded telegrams communicating whether you __speak to anybody, approach any of their number, send any telegrams or speak to the police__, and if I do not hear the correct signals from them at regular intervals, your friend will have a small part of him removed. The parts will get progressively less small the longer I am displeased. The unfortunate fate of the little street rat, whose body you have no doubt discovered by now, will eventually be shared by him, if you do not cooperate. I have enough resources to then escape without repercussions, but would prefer to be able to command the luxuries of life, rather than the mere essentials, so, as you can see, I have a vested interest in keeping your friend alive and re-acquiring my property. _

_Your friend will not be intact – you have vexed me too much to ask that of me. However, he shall be able to eventually return to useful functioning, if you do exactly as I say. To signal your agreement, you may stand at your front window and wave the lantern I see standing upon the table back and forth three times. It will be reported to me. If you want to alleviate a little of your friend's discomfort, you may use an alternative signal that will assuage a tiny proportion of my desire for vengeance upon you. I give you my word, for what it is worth, and you can choose to believe, or disbelieve it, that I shall go a little easier upon him if you then place your right hand firmly atop the lit lantern and hold it there for half a minute. The burns will be most painful, and I am sure debilitating, for a considerable time afterwards, but you can comfort yourself that you have spared your friend a little pain, in exchange for your own._

_I await your reply. I would not disappoint me._

_With Warmest Regards,_

_Mrs Edward Raddison._

* * *

_Ugh, this woman definitely has a mean streak. Whatever happens, it does not sound promising for Watson._

_Many grovelling apologies for my lack of updating recently. Time at the computer is at a premium at the moment, and, although I know where this story is going, actually getting it there is quite fiddly! Next chapter should not take so long though, I promise! If you're still with me, please read and review – I'd still be delighted!_


	49. Chapter 49: Who watches the watchers?

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 49: Who watches the watchers?**

I turned my attention to Charlie, and cogitated, running over my list of options as I cleansed and bound the head wound, as rapidly as would allow sufficient gentleness and caution. By the time his head was swathed in a thick white bandage, I had determined that it would be rash to involve Scotland Yard at this stage. It is difficult to move unobtrusively with a bevy of flat footed officials crashing through the figurative undergrowth, and any slip on their part might have disastrous consequences for Watson. A more subtle group of allies was needed.

"You will live, Charlie. Now, I need you to answer me extremely honestly. You must not bend the truth in order to please me. Did you and the other boys rehearse the drills I set you?"

"Yes, Guv'nor." He piped, his eager little face straining to emphasise his veracity. "We practised real 'ard. We got real good at it. It's a rum game, see."

"Good. Thank you. Is anybody stationed near Baker Street at present?"

"Eli an' lil' Wiggins ain't far off."

"Even better. Now Charlie, I know you are injured, but I have one last job for you, and then you must rest yourself, as I will need you again, and I need you fully alert and well recovered from that wound, or you could betray my plans." The last part was a lie, but I knew the child would drag himself after me like a faithful dog if I did not appeal to his professionalism. "Do you think you are up to it?"

"A'course, Guv'nor! Anyfink what helps get the Doctor back."

"Good lad! I need you to climb out of the attic window at the rear of the house, and make your way along the roof. I need you to return to earth as unobtrusively as you are able, for I have reason to believe the building is being watched. You will have to take every precaution to avoid being seen. I would advise a descent down number 212's back chimney, and thence out through the parlour window.

"When you reach street level, I need as many boys rounded up as possible. Eli is fast; send him to gather recruits, whilst Wiggins keeps me in view...."

I continued to detail my plans, and the little red head listened intently, his head cocked to one side like a particularly unruly sparrow. The briefing was long and complex, yet when I asked him to repeat it back to me, he had remembered every word. A magnificent child, all things considered. I felt a cold rage stir within me as I thought with what little consideration my quarry had thought to snuff out his life. The tragedy was, his death under normal circumstances may not have been particularly marked by most of the London citizenry – street Arabs were viewed in a similar light as rats by many.

Charlie scrambled out of the window, festooning himself with a corona of cobwebs as he did so. I returned to the living room, and rested my head against the bow window, occasionally raking my fingers through my hair, knowing I presented the archetypical picture of helpless despair, and assuming this would be reported back to the harpy who held my friend.

After five minutes of pacing, forehead-striking and hair tearing, I steeled myself for the next unpleasant business. I am not so bold that the thought of severe physical pain does not intimidate me at all. However, I can and will endure it on occasion if it will help me achieve my goal. I had no doubt that obeying that vile woman's commands and gratifying her blood lust would hurt me considerably, but I did not intend to disable myself so profoundly as she had intended.

From my chemistry table, I selected a small pad of rock-wool and concealed it in my palm. I coated my hand with vaseline, and pressed a little putty into the woollen fibres. I then crossed to the window, carrying the lantern, my hands shaking only slightly. I held the lantern aloft, studying the street below for Mrs Raddison's accomplices. I thought I could spot one of them, a burly individual lurking in a shop doorway smoking a cigarillo.

With the rock-wool in my palm, I pressed my hand to the top of the lantern. The heat-retardant fabric absorbed the worst of the heat, but the proximity was more painful than I would have expected. It was not a difficult piece of acting to writhe in agony as the putty began to smoke. The vaseline was heating up too, and my skin around the pad was starting to burn. Some of the fibres were conducting heat, and I moaned to myself as I started to smell burnt flesh. _Fifteen seconds to hold out_, I thought grimly.

I banged my free hand against the window frame, and allowed tears to pour down my cheeks. If they were watching my reactions through field-glasses, I am sure they would raise the mood of the harridan orchestrating this discomfort. By now, I was almost in earnest. The pain in my palm was sickening. I had overestimated the protection the rock wool would provide. Finally, the half-minute was over, and I snatched my hand away, clutching at my wrist, and stumbling to the bathroom to ease the pain. I poured cold water onto my injured flesh, fighting the rising nausea, which I only gave in to after I had forced myself to keep the hand immersed for long enough to take the heat out.

I inspected the damage. There was an angry black burn in a circumscribing where the protective rock-wool had nestled, and in places the skin was lifting away, but it could have been much worse. I rapidly raided Watson's black bag and applied a clean dressing.

I then returned to the bow window, and treated any audience to an imaginary pantomime of pacing yet again, and then appearing to yield to profound restlessness. I retreated to my bedroom and attired myself appropriately. I then made my way downstairs, and let myself out through the front door. I was wrapped in a distinctive grey heavy coat and blue muffler, the brim of my top hat pulled low, to the discouragement of eye contact. I set off, apparently aimlessly, a man treading the streets to allow himself time to think, holding the hand swathed in thick bandages awkwardly, leaning upon my cane with my left hand.

As I came to the pavement outside, I noticed a rusty coloured stain upon it, trickling into the gutter. It was not blood. It had more the appearance of iodine. I dropped down and fiddled with my shoe-lace, deliberately allowing my sleeve to brush against it. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sniffed the stain as I straightened up. Yes, it was iodine.

I glanced along the street. Splashes of bright orange liquid traced their way along the gutter, following the tracks of a laden hackney carriage. I set off in nonchalant pursuit. It was no doubt fortuitous to be provided with so obvious a lead. It was, unfortunately, too obvious for my liking.

At 215 lived Mrs Johnson, an elderly valetudinarian who occupied herself mainly by sitting in her bow window and drinking in the living tapestry of the busy street beneath her. I have, on occasion, delighted her by turning her boredom to a purpose, and setting her to watch the passers-by, when I have had reason to believe I am being followed or my rooms watched. An elderly lady becomes part of the scenery in such circumstances.

Now I casually observed a young urchin leaving her house, triumphantly flipping a coin, to all intents and purposes having completed some errand. He scampered a way ahead of me, then seated himself upon a low wall. I seated myself on a bench opposite. The child drummed his heels in a rhythmic tattoo upon the wall as he drew a paper bag from his pockets and begun to munch upon the contents. I drooped my chin upon my hands and gazed vacantly ahead of me. The child's heels stilled. I rose to my feet, and continued walking, tapping my cane just ahead and just as I went. The child replaced his bag in his pocket and began wobbling precariously along the top of the garden wall in the same direction, his mouth still full of sweetmeats. He laughed and scampered off as an irate resident bellowed at him.

I continued to wander along the path, following the persistent trail of iodine. The pear-shaped drops told me the carriage must have been moving at a fair pace – my quarry would not wish to be caught at this stage of the proceedings. I had no doubt I was following the start of the trail, but equally little doubt now that the iodine would not lead me to what I most hoped to find.

Two more young boys appeared in the street ahead. I leaned against the wall, and reached for my pipe. The boys began an apparently ludicrous game, like a competitive form of "pat-a-cake", striking their palms against each other and giggling inanely the while, the rules apparently impenetrable to the alien eyes of an adult. I was impressed by their dexterity, and watched them listlessly as I leaned my head back against the wall and struck at it in frustration. There was something almost mesmeric about the game;

_Clap clap clap_, right hand of the tallest boy above his head, then a stamp of the foot and _clap_ both hands together, _clap clap clap _left hand at waist height, _clap_ both hands, _clap _left, _clap _right, _clap_ both and stamp, _clap_ left, _clap_ both, _clap_ right _clap_ left, _clap _both, _clap clap_ right, _clap_ both, _clap _right _clap_ left _clap _right, _clap _both ....

I gazed vacantly as I puffed upon my pipe. The boys were speeding up, their hands almost a blur, until the game obviously lost its cohesion, and they fell wrestling to the ground, raising a cloud of dust and coming to a halt quite near me, apparently quite satisfied with themselves. One drew some treasure from his pocket, and the boys studied it, preoccupied. I tapped my pipe against my teeth as I frowned at the ground. I then took another long draw, and continued my progress along the pavement. The giggling boys ran off.

The iodine drops were still visible. Now my eye was caught by something else in the road. Two forlorn playing cards, held together by a small tear and fold. A king and a ten of clubs. I recognised the pattern as being my own distinctive pack. I thought back to the cards arrayed on the table in our sitting room. Two-handed whist – the cards would represent one trick. A trick. I did not draw attention to the cards or pick them up, but they had certainly helped to confirm my theory.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two more ragged urchins coming into view up ahead. They were wandering along, hands in pockets, apparently interested in no-one's progress but their own. They brought a pie from a street vendor, and slowed so that I overtook them as they ate it.

The iodine drops were becoming closer together and more rounded. They had done this several times, presumably as the carriage had paused to negotiate the traffic. Now, however, there was a clear difference. The wheel ruts became fainter at this point, and symmetrically less marked over the back wheels. The passengers had alighted, and the driver had continued alone. The iodine trail followed the empty carriage.

I did not react to what I had just seen. I continued walking, then, after around five minutes, began tapping rhythmically with my cane once again. A growler, which had been meandering along the street, now shot purposefully past me, stopping just ahead of a newspaper stand.

As I drew abreast of the cab, the door opened, and a tall, thin figure wrapped in a distinctive grey heavy coat and blue muffler, the brim of his top hat pulled low, to the discouragement of eye contact, climbed out, concealed by the newspaper stand behind, and the cab itself to the side. His right hand was heavily bandaged. I leapt into the open cab door, and flattened myself to the floor. I was not the only occupant. A small dog leapt upon my person, and licked my face excitedly. I quieted him, then glued my eye to a crack in the door.

As I peered through the crack, the tall familiar figure continued to follow the iodine trail, and I could clearly see a large figure, supposedly studying the contents of a shop window with suspicious nonchalance, follow in his wake. I smiled grimly as the cab rattled off. I removed my own distinctive grey coat and blue muffler, to reveal a shabby, nondescript black affair beneath. I withdrew a straggly false beard from my pocket and applied it, followed by a cloth cap. I had just completed these preparations when the cab drew to a halt, and I alighted, taking my new canine companion with me. I went to the cabby's side, fishing a coin from my pockets.

"Awright, Mr Holmes?" he asked, _sotto voce_. "'Ow did me lil' brother and 'is lot get on?"

"Admirably, Wiggins. Their organisation, observational skills, and signalling were all above reproach, and beyond what I could have expected, even of them.

"They told me straight away that Mrs Johnson had seen Mrs Raddison spill that iodine herself – setting a tempting false trail for us. They identified that I had three followers, as you are probably aware. They then responded perfectly to my instructions, and arranged for you to arrive with such impeccable timing. I hope we have set the hounds upon the false trail. Now we must resume the real one, and quickly, as I do not wish Peters to reach the end destination, where I have no doubt an unpleasant reception committee awaits him. Even with feigning a sprained ankle, he will not gain much time, and I daresay he only has one or two boys watching him now?"

"Two, Guv'nor. We drummed up enough recruits quick enough. We all want to get the Doctor back in one piece."

"Oh, we shall do," I replied, grimly. "This creature is Percy. The great Toby's exotic blood runs in his veins, and I believe his nose is even sharper. I hope it will take us fairly promptly to the good lady's current abode. For now, you follow Peters, as he may need to make a quick getaway. Speak to the lads following him, and make sure they keep a close eye on his tail."

"Yes, Guv'nor," he answered smartly, and the cab rattled off. I turned, and doubled back upon the route the carriage had taken, Toby's progeny straining at the leash ahead of me.

We arrived back at the point where the false trial and presumably the true trail diverged. I gave Percy a handkerchief of Watson's to sniff, and he immediately gave a yowl of triumph, and set off across the road. At this point, he came to a halt, whining, and retracing his steps. The reason was plain, as a lightly laden carriage had here gained a new pair of passengers, the heavier seated upon the right.

Little Roberts sidled up to me at this point.

"We don' want to draw 'tention wiv a big crowd, Guv'nor, but there's nine of us a-followin' you now. We're all wiv you."

"You are the best legion any general could wish for." I told the boy warmly, and he blushed with pleasure. "I hope Percy will show us the way to Doctor Watson. I will need to watch the tracks for changes, to suggest they may have alighted. You boys continue to watch for signs anybody has cottoned on to us. Signal to me if you believe they have."

The child saluted smartly, and darted off. I set Percy onto the scent of the carriage wheels, whilst still reminding him of the scent of Watson. It evidently posed no difficulty for his talented nose, and he was soon trotting expectantly along the street, his scrubby tail waving high. With my surreptitious retinue, I set off in pursuit.

* * *

_Clever Holmes! It appears he can marshal his allies even when he can't speak. I do hope he gets to Watson in time though....._

_For those of you who got in there quickly, you may notice I accidently missed the lantern chunk out of the first version – sorry to make you re-read it!_

_Thanks to Westron Wynde for the loan of her cameo character, old Mrs Johnson of 215 Baker Street – I just wanted to cross over her world for a moment!_

_And thanks for you reviews and patience – my slowness in updating is a source of shame, but I can't help it, I promise! I'd still appreciate your reviews enormously._


	50. Chapter 50: Up and down the city streets

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 50: Up and down the city streets**

I was glad of my insalubrious attire as I followed the little dog's progress, for we were crossing into some of London's most unsavoury territories. Here, life was cheap, and had I looked as if I was carrying anything of value, I am sure many of the surly figures lurking in the noisome alleyways would have had no compunction in relieving me of it, violently if necessary. As it was, I attracted little attention – I doubt my person looked as if it would yield rich enough pickings to justify the risk that my six foot frame would offer significant resistance.

Here the streets were strewn with a malodorous debris; an unmentionable concoction of detritus that will result if poverty, overcrowding, and a poor uptake of the sewerage system combine. I questioned the ability of Percy to follow the scent amidst such distraction, but he appeared unfazed, his short legs trotting along with as much certainty as if he were meandering through the unspoilt countryside. Now and then I could make out the outline of the wheel ruts and the hoof-marks; they had evidently proceeded at a spanking pace to pass this unsafe area.

We were entering warehouse territory, that faceless expanse of dark, dirty buildings that sprawled like a soot-soiled forest all the way to the dockside. It would not be the first time these storehouses and mills had been put to a dark satanic purpose, where the industrial noise and the constant comings and goings would mask any signs of a struggle.

I was advancing cautiously now; I had still not ruled out that the woman might have sprung a separate trap for me here. The tracks were clearer here, the mud underfoot taking their impression well.

Percy stopped suddenly, and began cavorting around my feet, wagging his stubby tail, and evidently demanding further instruction. It was plain to see why. The carriage had stopped at this point, and, when it had driven off again, it was without its passengers. And there! There were the footprints, and Percy was obviously keen to follow the larger of the two sets, those which would ordinarily belong to a short man, but which I knew must be those of a taller man, yet unsteady and weak upon his feet. _At least he was still able to walk_.

Now greater caution than ever was needed. I stopped, bestowing a treat upon the dog, and drawing a cheroot from my pocket. I smoked, apparently in a brown study, but my eyes taking in every detail.

The footprints led around the side of one of the smaller buildings, through a narrow alleyway. Two hulking shadows stood at the its mouth, their stolid immobility a clear signal that they were guarding the place. She had taken precautions, then. But she was surely in there. Later, the strong arm of the official force may be of use, but first I wished to ascertain I would not be placing Watson in danger.

Casually, I began tapping my hands upon my thighs, as if to an internally sung tune.

In a short moment, a small gang of four boys appeared upon the street, boisterously kicking the sad remnants of a football between them. Giggling and jostling, they drew closer to the alleyway. One of them then launched a wild kick, and the ball sailed over the heads of the guards.

One of the taller boys tripped up to the men.

"Sorry, Misters. Can we 'ave our ball back, please?" He chirruped, already making to dart past them.

"Gerrouttavit, ya cheeky li'l beggar!" Snarled one of the men, aiming a clout, not entirely dodged, at the side of the child's head, and causing my hands to ball themselves into fists. The other, taller, guard laughed indulgently.

"Aw, giv the brat a rest, mate!" He trod heavily up to the ball, and tossed it back to the boys, amidst a chorus of high-pitched thanks, which a moment ago have been emitting spirited protests at his companion's display of violence. "Now, be-off, ya misbegotten lot! This 'ere's private property what we're guardin', an' ain't nobody allowed near it!"

"Coo, Mister, Wotcha guardin' then?" asked one of the little fellows, in tones of fascinated awe.

"Never ya mind, whelp!" Retorted the guard, but he was evidently enjoying the reverential attention of the boys. "Just ye rest assured that it's important!"

The boys all chipped in to the conversation now, their voices high and piping.

"Is is treasure?"

"I heard there was bags an' bags of gold an' jewels found down the docks last month. They said they came from India, from a _ma-har-rah-juss'_ palace! Go on, bet there's treasure you're lookin' after!"

"Nah, can't be anyfink that important. Who'd put somefink important in there wiv only two guards?" interpolated one reedy little voice, with the matchless scorn of childhood. "I reckon it's jus' some ole _bonds_ or _papers_ that some stuffy ole blokes want kep' safe. People who are guarding _important _stuff have smart uniforms. Bet we could get in round the back anyway."

"Oh, is that the case, young Mister Jaw-me-dead!" called out the communicative guard, both amusement and indignation in his tones. "Well, let me tell you, folks that want stuff of _real_ importance guarding don't go round advertisin' the fact wiv gaudy uniforms. An' you'd better not try an' get in round the back, as there are four more big blokes with heavy sticks who ain't as friendly as what we are, an' they'd tan ya hide for ya sure as look at ya!"

Any idea that he was exaggerating for effect was dispelled by the furious "Shut yer trap!" from his companion, and the look of guilty chagrin upon his face. Further confirmation, if any was needed, was provided as one of the boys cried "Let's see then!", as he hoisted himself up the high wall upon the other side of the warehouse and peered over the top. With a bellow of fury, the guards raced at him, and the boys scattered, squealing and giggling, the bold interloper calling out as he ran; "He was right too. Four guards, and big'uns too!"

The guards resumed their positions, rebuking each other loudly for this incident. I had heard enough. I would have to approach the building from another route.

I followed the wall along, and negotiated a winding pathway between the other buildings. Before too long, I heard a pattering of feet behind me, and the Irregulars trotted up, their small faces now serious.

"How yoo goin' to get in there, Guv'nor?" asked Eli, anxiously.

"I shall first examine all sides of the building. A way in may present itself," I answered.

I found my way back to the rear of the building. I knew many of these buildings had cellars built in for the easy delivery of goods, and sure enough, here was the rusty entrance, barred only by an enormous but simple padlock a child could pick. I turned to the boys, and whispered;

"Here is my way in. Now is the time to ensure we have back up should we need it. Mostyn and Griff, you two run to Scotland Yard; ask for Gregson, or, failing that, another you know. Persuade them to return here with sufficient force. Timing will be important. When I wish them to make a move, I will wave a red kerchief from an upper window. If I want them to wait, I shall either wave a white kerchief, or find some other way of communicating as such. If they have heard nothing either way by..." I drew my watch from my pocket, "...quarter past three, they should close in of their own accord. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Guv'nor!" whispered the pair, the youngest and smallest of the little gang; they then slipped off like shadows into the alleyways.

I turned to the remaining Irregulars.

"This is where things may get dangerous. Any boy who wishes may leave now, without shame. You have already been enormously helpful, and your families need you."

Not one boy moved, their young faces set and solemn. I shook my head, moved by their fealty.

"Very well. Here is what we must do....."

****

The padlock had given way easily enough. I quietly stole up the dank corridors, mould stealing its way up the wall, and peeling posters instructing the workers of the rules of this now defunct establishment, my ears straining to pick up the slightest sound. I therefore heard the awful noise before I could be certain of what it was, but the mere suggestion was enough to invoke that same nauseous dread I had felt as Watson was tortured in the outbuilding at Hecate House.

As I drew closer, I received the dreadful confirmation, with a horrible sense of _deja vu. _It was the harrowing sound of a grown man sobbing. A soft voice overlay the noise; it sounded soothing, although I could not make out the words. I stole closer still. There was a man's harsh laughter, and a soft cry. I could now hear the soothing voice clearly.

"Do not worry so, Doctor Watson, I am sure your ordeal will soon be over. I expect the news Mr Holmes has stumbled into our little trap imminently. Which of you and your dear friend do you suppose will have the most endurance? I must confess, your lack of resilience disappoints me. You tough military men are all the same, break through that stiff upper lip and you are all soon crying for your mothers."

"Please, don't hurt me any more." The voice was supremely weary and defeated. "Holmes will give you what you want, if you will just let me go."

"You are right. Holmes will give me what I want. However, I sincerely hope he does fall for my little trap, as then I need let neither of you go without a suitable reprimand..."

I pressed my eye to the door. A large man loomed by the window. The door was locked. I needed a diversion. I silently got to my feet, and stole along the corridor to the staircase. A bannister rail hung rotten and drunkenly. I twisted it free with minimal noise, and fished in my pocket for the ball of twine I habitually carried. Tying one end securely, I hung the rail over the edge, between the flights of stairs, and slipped back to the room next to where Watson lay captive, unwinding the twine as I went, recalling a similar action; leaving Violet standing guard upon the stair in Hecate House with the twine stretched between us. It seemed a lifetime ago, but I took heart from the memory – the scheme had worked then.

I let go of the end of the twine. There was a brief interval of silence, as the heavy railing sailed down three flights of stairs, then a deafening clatter from the ground floor.

All noise in the next room stilled.

"What was that?" I heard the woman ask, tensely.

"Probably them rotten street brats. Them's a plague, they are. They'm been windin' up Bob an' Will out front somethin' rotten f'r'over an hour. Im's off ta fix them, an' if I catch a one a'em, I'll's break their scrawny necks."

He set off, and I gave him a few moments for his feet to recede down the corridor, then leaped around the door, my revolver raised. The sight within gave me pause.

Mrs Raddison was standing in the centre of the room. Her eyes widened in astonishment then narrowed malevolently at the sight of me. Watson was kneeling in front of her, his face puffy, and stained with blood and tears, and a gun, held firmly by Mrs Raddison, pressed into the back of his neck.

* * *

_Stalemate? Watson is not having much luck recently, is he? Who will give in? Continued in Chapter 51.... please read and review!_


	51. Chapter 51: Stalemate

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 51: Stalemate**

I believe I had taken in the implications of this gritty tableau and weighed my various options before Watson had had time to stare at the sight of me. I should have anticipated the gun. The threats in the letter had led me to expect a knife, and I had underestimated her suspicious nature that led her to adopt a position of such deadly proximity to my friend. On the other hand, my revolver pointed at her head. I believe I held the advantage, but it was a slim one.

I kept my own weapon levelled at Mrs Raddison, my good left hand supporting my injured right. She must know that I could shoot her dead should she attempt to fire at me, although the odds were considerably evened by her stranglehold upon my friend. Should I shoot her, it was not unlikely that she could sever his spinal column before she expired.

My next strategy was a painful one, and one I hoped Watson would understand. She must be led to believe I attached far greater value to my own life than to Watson's. I felt fear for her own skin may outweigh her desire for vengeance, and perhaps in her hopes of escaping she would release him.

To this end I donned my most bored and superior expression, and allowed the gun to gently waver back and forth, still pointed towards her head.

"My dear Mrs Raddison. You left before I had the opportunity to thank you for your kind hospitality, otherwise I promise I should have expressed my gratitude more fittingly. I deduce by the fact that you have evidently tortured my colleague that you are aggrieved by my rudeness, and I have gone to considerable trouble to seek you out and rectify the situation. Perhaps if you release him, I shall not put a bullet through your brain."

The woman granted me a predatory smile in return.

"I think not, Mr Holmes. I do not know how you managed to get here so quickly, but your run of success stops now. I have no intention of giving up my bargaining chip. I think you know me well enough by now to know I shall kill him if you attempt to overpower me."

I glanced at Watson, allowing disdain to show upon my features.

"For Heaven's sake, Watson, do pull yourself together and stop snivelling. It avails us nothing, and I require my considerable powers of concentration to be intact." A hurt whimper answered these harsh words, and I felt a perverse sense of hope. Surely Watson was exaggerating his affliction, knowing the competitive edge that may be gained if your opponent underestimates you? I stared into Mrs Raddison's eyes again. "I dare say he will be much better off shot cleanly that left to your vile devices. It is certainly an outcome I desire to avoid, but it is not the worst available to me."

I saw the flicker of doubt cross her face, as she attempted to ascertain if I meant my cold words and Watson sniffed pitifully. I allowed her enough time to process her thoughts, then continued.

"I will confess that you would aggrieve me considerably if you shot my colleague, and he is valuable enough to me that I was willing to acquiesce with your unpleasant little scheme with the lamp to spare him some discomfort-" I looked at the wilting figure kneeling at her feet, and sniffed "-although it would appear you did not honour your side of the bargain. However, nobody is irreplaceable, and I flatter myself that I am rather more indispensable. So. Let us have that fact clear. How shall we proceed from this point? We should be able to devise a method by which we can facilitate an equitable exchange, despite neither of us trusting the other an inch."

"We _had_ an equitable agreement, and you invalidated it."

"Semantics, dwelling in the past. This avails you nothing."

I offered her a grain of bait. I began flexing my fingers, as if in pain, around the revolver. I allowed her to glimpse a tightening of pain around my eyelids. She thought my hand more injured than it truly was. I was tolerably confident she would take her opportunity to murder me if I offered it, and believe she could outdo the fellow with the crippled hand in a quick-draw contest. She would discover her mistake to her cost.

Hurry, you harridan! Before your beefy subordinate returns... take the lure...

At that moment, events altered suddenly and dramatically. Watson had been swaying from side to side, his head bowed, and now gave a choking heave and retched. To my horror, a torrent of blood accompanied the action, and he began to fall. Even Mrs Raddison betrayed a tiny instant of horror and alarm at the spectacle – and it was enough.

In a split-second, Watson had seized her gun arm, and was bearing it down. I could not risk a shot now without endangering his own person, so I leapt towards the fray, dropping my own weapon, and making to seize the woman's wrist.

I was quick, but somebody was even quicker. From the ceiling above, three dirty young urchins dropped on Mrs Raddison's back, and one dealt her a stunning blow with a roof-tile. I wrenched the gun from her grasp and threw it away, making to immobilise her, but I had underestimated her strength, and her left arm shot free. A heavy blow landed upon my right side, and a dull, burning pain followed it. Ah. At least I had been right that she would be armed with a knife.

That would be her last act of defiance, as the Irregulars had her pinioned and more thoroughly subdued in the nest instant.

I fell back, holding my side and gasping.

"Holmes! Old chap, tell me you are alright!"

I found myself looking into the familiar eyes of Watson, the fire quite returned to then, albeit softened with worry. My own fear at the recollection of that appalling expulsion of blood seized me, and I clutched at his arm.

"I will be well, but, Watson, what of yourself? Have you internal injuries?"

He smiled, grimly. "I have told you before, Holmes, nothing is more exacerbating to the stomach than fresh blood. I bit the inside of my mouth and swallowed the best part of half a pint. I needed a diversion. I could see the Irregulars at the trapdoor overhead, reflected in her shoes." _His head bowed... of course_... "Now, let me see that side."

"It is quite superficial," I answered, but already my head was beginning to swim, and I was left with no choice but to doubt my own words. I was considerably weakened.

Not so weakened that I did not note the noise outside in the corridor, and remember with a sickening lurch the bulky accomplice who had gone to investigate downstairs. Nor to note the two guns, lying feet away, that may as well be miles for all the good they would do. Nor to note, as if time had slowed to crawling place, the barrel of yet another weapon precede its unseen owner into the room.

* * *

_Oh no, surely it can't be another disaster? And is Holmes' wound really superficial? It has to be time to give the boys a breather, doesn't it?..... well, perhaps! Read on to Chapter 52._

_Thanks, as ever, for the fab reviews._


	52. Chapter 52: A significant reversal

**The Adventure of Hecate House **

**Chapter 52: A significant reversal**

The intake of breath, and tightening of the arms around me showed me Watson too had noticed our precarious position, and was ready to spring. I believe the next development froze him in place as much as it did me. Hair disarrayed, in a state of minor _dishabile_, the figure carrying the gun crossed the threshold and turned the weapon upon us, before taking in the spreading stain upon my shirt in some alarm, allowing her arms to fall and running to drop by my side.

"Holmes! Are you severely hurt?" The look on her face caused my breath, already painful, to catch further in my chest, and I felt a strange, soaring sensation as I read her unguarded expression. _Must be loss of blood, making me lightheaded._

"Violet!" I croaked. "How in the name of all that's wonderful did you get here?"

* * *

_I know, I know, a disgracefully short chapter after you have all waited so patiently! Not to worry. Chapter 53 is written and only in need a little polishing, so it will be up tomorrow. And weren't you glad to see Violet? How _did_ she get there, indeed? All will be revealed in the chapter 53. And please, as ever, read and review!_


	53. Chapter 53: A fireside tale

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 53: A fireside tale**

I sighed, able to be relatively content, all things considered, as Anstruther tightened the last bandage around my ribcage, and allowed me to sink back upon the newly imported spare sofa with a sigh of relief.

The inhabitant of our usual sofa smiled rather weakly at me.

"The furniture is comfortable, the company good, but the compulsory uniform of this new club is rather binding," remarked he, unblushing at his dreadful pun, ruefully inspecting the bandages that swathed his person.

"Watson, I am sure Dr Anstruther is itching to observe to us both that the bandages are the least of our concerns, and that, if we both continue along our current course of recklessness, we shall find ourselves in matching coffins next."

Anstruther smiled thinly.

"I would not be so presumptuous. I am not immune to the fact that the woman who inflicted the wounds upon both of you is one of the greatest villains you have yet encountered. I only wish bringing her justice had not cost you both so highly."

The kind doctor rose to his feet, his expression changing suddenly in the way that was so characteristic of the fellow. The grim, sorrowful lines faded, and his lips twitched suddenly with amusement.

"Besides, Gentlemen, I feel any reproof I may offer is soon to be rendered superfluous. I hear the steps of your good landlady upon the stairs, and I am sure she is merely awaiting my pronouncement that you are both out of danger before she commences scolding."

"Tell her I'm dying!" I said, in alarm, as Watson cried "Don't leave us!" in failing accents.

However, our landlady's hospitable nature would not allow her to permit Anstruther to leave without drinking a cup of tea, so she was forced to contain the worst of her scolding, owing to the presence of a witness. The fight had not entirely left her, and she fired a partisan shot as she bustled out the room.

"You had best all drink some tea – if these two gentlemen can manage a civilised activity like drinking tea, instead of racketing about the country picking up punctured lungs and burns and cuts and Heaven knows what else. '_Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble_.'"

I chuckled at the perplexed expression upon Anstruther's face.

"Mrs Hudson becomes Biblical when she is much moved." I explained. "I believe that latest was from the Book of Job; my dear Mother used to force me to recite that one myself."

"She cares for you both greatly. She has been worried", replied Anstruther calmly, draining his cup and collecting up his bag.

"With reason, I suppose", mused Watson.

As Anstruther's steps receded down the stairs, Watson turned to me.

"I hope you are planning to update me. There is much I would wish to know. I gather Dr Raddison's practice has been terminated? And I still fail to entirely understand how Miss Hunter come to be mixed up in this abominable business." This last was accompanied with a severe look in my direction.

I had wondered when we were to address this issue. My friend had until now been too much preoccupied with my stab wound, and doubtless also his own wounds, to wonder much at how our delivery had been brought about by a young woman he vaguely remembered, and whose association he had no idea I had continued to further. To circumvent any embarrassing questions, I decided to lay the crime and its unravelling in front of him, and brave his recriminations instead.

"Dr Raddison is certainly out of commission. However, as you have no doubt gathered from painful personal experience – and I cannot apologise enough for that, my dear fellow – I have the distinct impression his wife may be the more invidious of the two. You have more than earned your right to an explanation – are you up to listening to one now?"

"I am not going anywhere else for the time being." Watson winced as he settled himself more comfortably. He had not allowed me to know the extent of his injuries, even going so far as to insist Anstruther examined him in a separate room, but I deduced they were sufficiently extensive as to make his earlier display of abject subjugation no great acting feat. I therefore decided my explanation should be as comprehensive yet straightforward as possible.

I declared my intention to begin, as I have often stated where a story should begin: at the beginning.

"You no doubt recall, even when Miss Meredith Rangaford first came to visit us, that this enterprise smacked of elaborate organisation. That young woman was not the type to entertain elaborate delusions of persecution; therefore there was veracity in her perception of being watched, and a certain level of organisation to accomplish this – of course, these impressions were subsequently confirmed. However, right from the start, I felt fairly convinced the usual criminal failings would apply. Overconfidence, and insufficient attention to detail.

"As you observed from the beginning, the sticky issue of consummation of our species is one ripe for exploitation. I could straightaway think of numerous methods to dupe and swindle naïve and desperate young couples. The very fact that, not content with this, Rangaford had turned to blackmail, suggested excess ambition. This suspicion was reinforced by the infelicitous death of his client Mrs Veronica Bellingham.

"That he had not factored in the natural desire of a pompous young husband like George Rangaford to exhibit his wife's proficiency in holding household, rather as if displaying a self-trained performing pet, suggested inattention to detail.

"Your sojourn with Nancy at Hecate House, and my own explorations would seem to add strength to these suppositions. The rumour mill in the village was slowly generating enough rope to hang them with. The thrashing of a local lad in the inn, in full view of the patrons, may have been an effective deterrent to trespass, but was also stupidly encouraging of gossip. The locals even openly spoke of the inhabitants of the house murdering an intruder and feeding him to the dogs. A truly expert criminal does not encourage this sort of sensational attention.

"Further evidence of sloppy practice was provided by my so easily tracing the babies with which the Raddisons' had provided their clients. A cautious operator would have chosen a source considerably more remote from their centre of operation.

"In your case, the ingenuity and depth of the scheme was much evident, yet also its' flaws. A drunken butler, careless of his keys. The over-enthusiastic boast of potential violence as you were driven to the house. Recording all the names in one ledger, therefore providing the link for any party interested in his dubious dealings. The anxiety with which Raddison guarded his inner sanctum, betraying the likelihood of damning contents. I had high hopes of excellent recompense for our touch of burglary."

"And the ruthlessness with which I was treated must have confirmed many of your suspicions. Don't forget, they were willing to allow the dogs to savage my 'accomplice' also." Interpolated Watson.

"I would have preferred a less practical demonstration, my friend." I replied, gently. He shrugged in response.

"I will heal, Holmes. It seems a paltry sacrifice if it helped you break up their group."

"It was most instrumental, Watson, in doing so without severe collateral damage to many of the Raddisons' victims. Armed with Mycroft's list, the details of which I confided to your during your convalescence, I knew which crimes were likely to be capital, and which would need removing, as being likely the most embarrassing to the victims."

My stalwart companion nodded with satisfaction, and I continued my narrative.

"This blend of ambition and arrogance, of meticulous planning yet carelessness of detail, remained evident throughout my investigations. I anticipated that, once I had gained access to the house, I would not find it too difficult to discover the details of at least one crime which would have sufficiently serious implications to massively incommode our criminals. Even if I had nothing to convict them of their crimes, burglary would have stood me in good stead, and perhaps some counter-blackmail.

"I was correct in all these assumptions – beyond my hopes, in fact. The evidence of their criminal enterprise was all around me upon first entering the premises. Did you notice the pipes in the bedrooms were set up for listening? No, I did not expect you would have. Never mind, the point is, the invasion was a successful one. Miss Hunter's admirable performance must take some credit for that."

"Yes. I had not been aware you were still in contact with her", he said, rather accusingly.

"She has helped me out with some small matters from time to time. She has previously shewn herself to be resolute and competent." I stated airily. Watson might have been dissatisfied by my evasiveness, but I was rescued, for the second time that day, by the lady under discussion herself.

Mrs Hudson knocked firmly upon the door, and announced Violet, collecting the tea-tray, and promising it would promptly be replenished as she ushered our welcome guest to the fireside seat.

"I heard you were tangled up in this business, Ma'am, and helped get poor Dr Watson back and prevent Mr Holmes from being skilleted. I am sure I am much obliged to you, although what he could have been thinking, involving a gentlewoman such as yourself in such a nasty business, I'm sure I don't know. Do sit down, whilst I procure some refreshments. Your nerves must be shaken to pieces."

Determined to nip this behaviour in the bud, before Watson took up the war cry as well, I interrupted Violet's modest disclaimers, and took the offensive away from my ruffled landlady.

"My dear Mrs Hudson, let me inform you that Miss Hunter was most instrumental in bringing to justice one of the foulest ring of criminals I have yet to encounter. I am sure you would have volunteered to assist yourself, had the situation allowed it, but I needed somebody to pose as my wife, you see, and I am not sure you and I would have made a convincing couple."

The good lady snorted, reddened, and retreated. I turned my attention to Violet, who was valiantly attempting not to laugh at Mrs Hudson's discomfiture.

"You arrive at a most opportune time, Miss Hunter," I smiled at her. "We were discussing the case, and had just reached the point where you arrived upon the scene. As you can see, we are both sufficiently patched up to make meaningful conversation. I am therefore able to more eloquently thank you than when I was engaged in bleeding over your dress."

"I am most relieved that neither of you were more seriously injured. I was afraid, for a moment..."

I noticed the minute quaver in her voice, and quickly interrupted, lest she betrayed herself. It would be most ungentlemanly to obligate her to reveal our that dealings had exceeded the professional.

"We will both heal. Will tea be sufficient to fortify your 'shaken nerves', or would you prefer something a little stronger?"

"Tea will suffice for now, thank you. Dr Watson, I hope you are also recovering from your unspeakable ordeal?"

"I thank you, yes, Miss Hunter. I must say, though, I am all astonishment at your involvement. It has been several years since we last met."

"Oh, I found after our adventures in Hampshire, settling down to teaching seemed sadly flat. I volunteered to help out Mr Holmes with the odd piece of surveillance, and he accepted", laughed Violet. She spoke with easy nonchalance, and I breathed a sigh of appreciation. With luck, Watson would put my not having mentioned her name down to natural taciturnity and scant necessity.

"I was explaining to Watson, Miss Hunter, that the nefarious nature of the house was evident the moment we entered it."

"Well, almost." Replied Violet. "Although we did give ourselves away somewhat by speaking unguardedly before you noticed those pipes." She then proceeded to tell Watson about Robinson, listening to our conversation, but having his own ulterior motive in not betraying us until it suited him.

Watson was evidently torn between consternation that we should have been so nearly exposed, and smirking amusement at Violet mentioning what I had omitted; that I had not seen those pipes upon my first glance of the room, despite my slightly supercilious attitude a moment before.

"Whatever could have been his motivation in keeping quiet?" he asked.

"Ah, we are veering off the natural sequence of the tale, my dear Doctor."

I returned to my narrative, describing my precautions to prevent our being murdered in our beds, including communicating a rough outline of my plans to Lestrade before setting off.

"Every night, a boy would await my signal at two a.m. This would be one of three commands; 'Await further instructions', 'Hold off until my next signal is due', or 'Come immediately.' The two o'clock signal was to be followed by a pre-dawn signal, as I assumed our night-time excursions to the inner sanctum, were to be the time of most pressing danger.

"If they did not hear back from be, they would inform Lestrade, and he would mount his offensive. I had given the Inspector sufficient information about the likely bag he would inherit from me if I received his assistance that he had willingly taken a team to Devon, to lodge at a nearby village and await events."

With satisfaction, I revealed how Lestrade's confidence had not been misplaced, and the irrefutable evidence of numerous vile crimes I had uncovered.

I then began to expound upon the meticulous documentation, tantamount to a signed confession, that the room had yielded. Watson was at first satisfactorily incredulous, expressing, as had Lestrade, the belief that, if he were to embark upon a life of crime, he would not corroborate it in writing.

I smiled at this musing.

"It is fortunate for England that you are not a criminal then, Watson. However, I feel we may be doing the man an injustice in purely ascribing his motives to vanity."

Both my companions immediately demanded I explain this statement, but I disclaimed.

"As this supposition is still at the theoretical stage, I prefer not to animadvert upon it yet. It was foolish of me not to consider the possibility before. I was too distracted by the visceral response of Miss Rangaford, Emily, Nancy, the locals and myself to the Doctor to consider it immediately. Here I have erred in indulging in fancy rather than hard fact, so I beg that you will excuse me any further theorising upon this matter before I can gather more data."

I skirted over Violet's near fall, and, of course, any other details which might embarrass her, dwelling instead on her level-headedness, courage and aplomb in both her real and her assumed roles. As I reached the breathless point of the narrative where we found ourselves confounded by Robinson, I noticed a slight blush stealing over her cheeks. I hoped Watson put it down to natural agitation, he was flushed in anger himself at the audacity of the youth in threatening Violet.

I downplayed the danger of our escape; I was sure I would be reprimanded by Watson for placing my fair companion in such a precarious position as it was.

I conveyed the impression that we had simply had to flee far from the grounds, and were unable to stage a return until after Lestrade and his fellow Yarders had arrived on the scene. How all the players except 'Castling' and 'Mrs Raddison' were captured. How we were too late to prevent the embodiment of both effecting her escape, presumably aided by a revolver and money taken from the hidden compartment in the window-sill.

"Now, we have reached a point where all our paths have diverged before coming together again. I would be much interested to hear your part of the story Watson, if it is not too painful to recount it, and Miss Hunter, if you could inform me how you contrived to mount such a timely rescue, and the events in Hecate House following my departure. I should be much obliged to you."

* * *

_Well, thank goodness all three appear to be safe for the moment. Although Holmes does seem to be keeping something up his sleeve – what could it possibly be?_

_More will follow in Chapter 54...._


	54. Chapter 54: The Doctor's notes

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 54: The Doctor's notes**

Watson and Violet initially seemed inclined to contest my diverting the storytelling onto them, but, although I observed the momentary expression of defiance in each, they seemed to rapidly reconsider.

"I dare say my story will be the least cumbrous to tell," mused Watson. "I was seated upon the sofa, playing whist and losing a good deal of imaginary currency to young Charlie, when she simply walked in through the door. I imagine she had just waited for Mrs Hudson to go out, and gained entrance as she left.

"She entered the room wielding a gun. There was not a moment to do anything. At first, I did not recognise her, dressed as she was. She then spoke, and her identity became plain to me. It was obvious she recognised me, as her brows lifted in surprise, and she laughed and exclaimed;

"'Dr Edmund Daley, is it not? You are to be congratulated. I looked into your identity, and assumed you must have gone through with your plans to leave the country, and now I find you sitting here in the role of Dr Watson, biographer of the famous detective, Mr Sherlock Holmes.'

"I rose to my feet, intending to attempt to subdue her, as did Charlie. She recommended us to remain where we where, and she moved out of range, telling us as she did so that she was proficient with weaponry, which I could well believe.

"She looked out of the window as she held us at bay with her pistol, and announced Mrs Hudson had left the house and was walking up the street, so there were no witnesses.

"She asked me what you were doing. I refused to reply, naturally. She asked me if I had heard from you. I said I had not.

"She looked around the room. You had left the handcuffs upon the bookshelf, and she instructed Charlie to fetch them. He hesitated, brave little fellow, but I told him to obey. She ordered him to fasten them upon me, and again he demurred, but agreed when she threatened to shoot me. However, quick as a fox, he fastened my wrists in front of me, not behind, and when instructed to unfasten them and do them again behind my back, told her he did not know where the key was kept." A shadow crossed Watson's face for a moment – he was a notorious soft touch where children were concerned.

"She stormed over to us, and struck him a vicious blow with the butt of the gun. I saw him crumple. I would have fought her then, but she assumed she had killed him, and was preoccupied with my own person. I had observed him starting to lean back into the blow before it was struck, as you have taught him, and thought there was a good chance he was still alive. I did not want her to investigate him any more closely, so I complied with her, and began to put on a display of cowardice for her benefit." He began to flush, his pride evidently shamed, even by a feigned weakness of character. For a moment, I was unable to reassure him, as I was tightly controlling my rage at the mention of the callous attempted murder of my little apprentice.

"I begged her not to harm me, and to spare my life. I let her see me tremble. I'm sure I was pale already. She laughed, and said she might yet do so, but I had to help her find you first. I assume you have read the letter she left for you. She had the temerity to read it to me, letting me know what I was in for, and her anticipated outcome."

I wordlessly handed the letter in question to Violet, and she skimmed the contents rapidly, paling slightly towards the end, and glancing towards my bandaged hand. Watson watched this silent interchange curiously, then continued his narrative as Violet raised her eyes from the paper.

"She motioned for me to move towards the door. As I did so, I felt something in my trouser pocket. Running my fingers over it, I realised it was the key to the cuffs – smart as wax, Charlie. He had slipped it to me before he was struck down. I am so relieved he has suffered no lasting harm.

"The woman stood still for a moment, obviously considering her next move. She then appeared to make up her mind, and took up a bottle of iodine from my medical bag upon the table. She then instructed me to precede her down the stairs, a jacket concealing my cuffed hands. I managed to reach the key as I did so, and released the cuffs, so they were merely resting closed.

"I had no opportunity to take further advantage of my position, as she held the gun pressing into the small of my back, over my spine, with a coat overlying it. She had a cab waiting for her.

"Before we climbed into it, she uncorked the bottle of iodine, and splashed it upon the ground, and some upon the wheel. She turned to me and smiled.

"'I understand your friend is an expert tracker," said she. 'Well then, we shall give him a trail to follow. If he fails to obey my instructions, I shall have a nice little reception awaiting him, and you both may expect a lot worse than slit wrists. I rather hope he does disobey me, as I would much like to have you both in my power.'

"We climbed into the cab. She ordered me to kneel upon the ground, and she tied a muffler around my eyes, and ordered me back up onto the seats. She then dealt me a couple of heavy blows around the head with the gun-barrel, to confuse and subdue me, I assume.

"We drove for some time. I attempted to take note of our direction, but my head was still ringing, and I do not have the skills nor the knowledge of London you have, Holmes, and I am afraid I was soon hopelessly lost. However, I was deeply worried by the thought that you might assume I had left the trail of iodine myself. I managed to feign faintness. I had not realised initially that I had automatically placed the cards I had been about to play in my waistcoat pocket when she entered the room. I succeeded in extracting them, and threading them through the gap between the door and the body of the carriage, although I received another blow for my pains. It seemed a thin hope, but I hoped you could see the significance."

"One trick; a trick," I confirmed. "I had seen the other cards upon the table, and yours convinced me what I was already almost certain of: that following the iodine trail to its end was unlikely to be good for my health."

"How did you know?" he asked, interestedly.

"Mrs Johnson. She sits in that window all day and every day. There is very little that escapes her notice. There is no more reliable witness than an elderly lady, sound of mind but invalid of body. I was unable to speak to her directly, of course, because of the terms of the letter, but I instructed Charlie, on his recovering from his swoon, to fetch the other boys, and one of their tasks was to interview the good lady, and communicate the results to me. She told young Eli that she had seen Mrs Raddison pouring the contents of the bottle upon the ground. She was a little too keen to attract my attention."

"How did you learn this, if you were forbidden to talk to the boys? I would imagine even disappearing would have been too risky." Violet interpolated.

I smiled in satisfaction as I leaned back upon the sofa, steepling my fingers comfortably. "Ah, that is one of the benefits of imagination: it leads one to prepare for diverse contingencies. My boys are well versed in Morse code. Left is dash, right is dot, both simultaneously signifies the end of a word. Striking high with the right hands, or on the thigh if using ones' heels to signal is units, the right hand side is 10's. A stamp is the end of a word. They have become proficient at both sending and reading such signals, to the extent that adaptations are easy – I used my cane, and tapping my pipe against my upper and lower incisors, to signal to them. There are many circumstances where one may wish to send a message without being observed; I predicted it, and prepared for it."

"Ingenious!" declared Violet, her eyes sparkling. "They really are remarkable children, to learn something so complex so thoroughly, and not to shirk their lessons. You must be a remarkable teacher."

I sensed this was high praise indeed, and was ridiculously pleased; Watson is correct in that I am susceptible to flattery. I waved the compliment aside, however, and asked Watson to continue.

"After driving about for a short while, we descended from the carriage, and I was led into another. The blindfold was left on, and a hat pulled down over my eyes for the exchange. I take it you noticed the switch?"

"Indeed. The markings of the wheels and the iodine made the vacating of the carriage obvious; I owe picking up your trail to the exquisite qualities of Percy the mongrel's nose. I had to first lose my tail – three persons, as communicated by the boys. A little substitution, which I had prearranged with Charlie, took care of that. Most people pay a large amount of attention to variable characteristics, such as clothing and facial hair, and superficial ones, such as height. It was a simple matter to brief Charlie as to the clothing I intended to wear as I left the house. Young Peters is a similar height and build to myself, and we changed places by the simple expedient of him descending from a carriage whilst I climbed into it. I warned him to take his time – I did not want him springing a trap intended for me. I was then able to switch my own clothing, and resume following your true trail unmolested."

"It all sounds most workmanlike, Holmes. From that point, we set off again, and arrived at the warehouse where you found me. Again, my cuffs were concealed with the jacket, and her gun hidden – I assume the bruisers outside, although in her pay, were not trusted with the information that she was a kidnapper.

"She led me to that upstairs room, where you came upon me. They attempted to establish whether I had any information as to your plans and your whereabouts, as you had disappeared from Hecate House. They were most ... persuasive." Here, Watson's voice, which had been so steady throughout this narrative, wavered a little. He swallowed, once, and continued, his voice perfectly steady once more.

"I felt my only option was to continue to play the coward, thinking that if they underestimated me sufficiently, they may become careless about guarding me. I was eventually proven right on this point, although it cost me a badly bitten cheek and an unsettled stomach to take advantage of it."

"I admired your performance greatly, my dear Watson, although I certainly cannot say I enjoyed it. I greatly regret the necessity."

Watson smiled at me. "My predicament could have been a great deal worse. I knew Mr Sherlock Holmes would be hot on our tracks, and I have had reason over the years to feel confident in his abilities. Although, I must say, I have seldom been so glad to see someone as I was you, despite the gun pressed into my neck. At that point, I was aware that you had reinforcements, and was ready to apply my diversion."

"You say you saw the approach of the Irregulars reflected in Mrs Raddison's shoes?"

"Yes. They took advantage of Mrs Raddison's loss of attention with impressive promptness."

"Indeed. Your own reaction times did you credit. Rather more so than mine did. I should have predicted the possibility of a knife."

"It did have to be a rather impromptu arrangement. I am sorry you were hurt, but at least it did not hit a vital spot." Watson now turned to Violet. "Miss Hunter, you may have gathered that it was at this point that you made your dramatic, and very welcome entrance – I should further add that I was just as glad to see you as I had been Holmes, and I am excessively curious, as I am sure Holmes is, if you will pardon the impertinence, to know how you got there."

_Well, we want to know that as well ... read on to chapter 55 to find out!_

_ Sorry for the delay – I have had a overcome a small degree of writer's block with this story, and I hope I'm going again now. Please continue to read and review – it definitely helps the creative juices flow!_


	55. Chapter 55: The Headmistress's Report

**Chapter 55: The Headmistress's Report**

Violet smiled as she took up the narrative.

"I would demur at your delaying your own explanations to listen to mine, Mr Holmes, but I know you well enough to realise you tend to get your own way! I do not think my explanations need be so extensive as Dr Watson's.

"When I saw you last, you were clad in a wonderfully severe black suit, and sweeping out of the door like an avenging angel to interview your prey." She did not mention the salute I had bestowed upon her as she left, but a small, secretive smile flickered across her face.

"I had expected you would commence with that ghastly Robinson if Raddison was too unwell, but soon I heard a commotion underway downstairs. I attempted to ascertain what was happening. At first, I was not allowed out of my room – I'm afraid I made rather a nuisance of myself, until Inspector Lestrade was fetched. He was evidently harassed, but courteous. He informed me of the circumstance of Mrs Raddison escaping, and, with a little persuasion, what you considered her true identity to be.

"He also told me of your precipitate dash to Paddington. I think the poor man was half out of his mind with worry and frustration – obviously, there was little he could do to help with the chase. I do not mind telling you that I was anxious too, knowing what that woman was capable of." Here again, Violet came close to losing her composure, as her usually firm lips trembled and her cheeks paled slightly.

"Inspector Lestrade told me that it was his duty to see to the remaining prisoners, although I think he would far rather have been haring after you, Mr Holmes. I then announced my attention to travel to London on the next available train."

I smiled, as I realised how Violet's path and ours had probably crossed.

"You procured a conveyance to Exmouth, then on to Exeter, then to London Waterloo." I laughed at her astonished expression. It was a relief to know I still held the power to surprise her. "I know because it was the next likely train to London, had our Mrs Raddison been delayed. I borrowed a Bradshaw on my own journey to ascertain this."

"How did you know she would go to London?"

"It was a logical assumption. She would not leave without her spoils. Even had the squealing Robinson not told me she had money and influence in London, it was obvious – how else could her network of spies have worked?"

I paused, and looked at Watson. "I also thought it most likely she would gravitate towards her revenge at Baker Street," I said softly. "She would wish to revenge herself upon the man who had scuppered her plans. She has drawn us a picture of her character which I was easily able to read – she is clever, yet over-ambitious and overridingly vindictive. Of course, I had to make some downward adjustments to her intelligence before putting myself in her place, but it seemed plain to me she would arrive eventually. I had hoped there would have been some delay – alas that that was not the case, my poor Watson. Waterloo was my contingency – I instructed one of the constables at Paddington to wire Lestrade, and mount a guard there also. But please, V- Miss Hunter, I digress. Do pray continue."

Violet nodded. "It is as you say. I managed to persuade Lestrade to let me out of our chambers and I repaired to the library to locate a Bradshaw myself. I then borrowed a horse from the stables, saddled it up myself (the dogs had been confined, by the way), and rode to Exmouth. I handed the animal over to the rather astonished station porter, and made the train with minutes to spare. I would not undergo that journey again for the world, gentlemen. My imagination seemed to be conjuring up the most appalling notions all the way, and the train stopped at an impossible number of little stations _en route_.

"Finally, I disembarked at Waterloo, only to find my path obstructed by the queue of people caused by the police searches at the exit. I pushed my way to the front, much to the indignation of my fellow travellers – my reputation would be in tatters had I been recognised, but for one who makes her living by decorous behaviour, it was rather liberating. I then mentioned Inspector Lestrade's name, and your own, Mr Holmes, to the Sergeant, but as I was arguing with him, one of your little Irregulars ran up. I recognised him – Roberts, I believe, and called to him. He piped out that you were attempting a daring rescue, Mr Holmes, and had sent him to attempt to get help from the nearest police station, or, failing that, Waterloo, being nearer at least than Scotland Yard.

"The foolishly prejudiced officers in the local police station had clipped him around the ear and advised him not to speak nonsense. With my voice added, the fellows in Waterloo were thrown into an agony of indecision, and, whilst they were deliberating, I pushed past them. They seemed inclined to obstinacy, so I told Roberts to lead me to you directly. I confess, I had no definite plan of action, but I felt a resourceful ally could always be of service, and I could at least investigate – I could always fetch the local police if all else failed."

"You took a terrible risk, Miss Hunter, if I may say so," observed Watson gently, his voice catching between censure and admiration. I myself felt nauseous when considering the potential disasters that could have befallen her, striding unattended and unprotected, except for a small street urchin, into unknown danger.

Violet smiled politely, but appeared unruffled. "A calculated risk, Doctor. I also took steps to minimise the danger to my person.

"We engaged a cab, and Roberts directed us to the warehouse where you were held, Doctor. He told me of the boys' earlier encounter with the guards, and the back way you had discovered. The guards were still on duty, which I thought unlikely to be the case had you already both made good your escape. I felt that possibly taking the front entrance may have ceded an advantage. I hatched a plan with Roberts." As she spoke, a blush crept up from behind her ears.

"I decided my best tactic was to pretend to be drunk, dishevelled, and of poor moral character." Watson stifled a gasp, and Violet gave an almost imperceptible defiant shake of her head. "I approached the men in this guise, and... and led them to believe their endeavours may be met with success should they pursue me. One in particular seemed most interested, and approached me. On my signal, I leapt on that guard, Roberts leapt on to the others' back, clasping his hands around his neck, and we both held a chloroform soaked rag over their mouths."

"Where on earth did you get chloroform?" ejaculated Watson.

"Mr Holmes has a supply in his burglary kit. I hope you do not mind, Mr Holmes, but I helped myself to one or two items I felt might be of use before I left. I was carrying a stout jemmy, and a sharp glass cutter also. I thought at first it was a shame there was no firearm available, but all in all, I think the method I chose worked best. I was a little anxious that the guard would be able to overpower me instantly, before the vapours had time to work, but he took a gasp of surprise when the cloth hit his face, and he was immediately woozy. Roberts had to clamp on to his man like a little octopus for a few seconds, but it all went off very well really. We moved our victims into the shadows, and poured enough chloroform onto the pads we tied to their faces to keep them out for a while. We could them just walk in the front door.

"As we followed the warehouse around to the staircase, I heard heavy steps starting down it. There was a heavy banister rail at the foot of the stairs, so I quickly gathered it up, and hid myself in the shadows. I told Roberts to lie face down a few feet from me, in full view.

"That enormous bull of a man came crashing onwards, and saw Roberts. He muttered something like 'Right, got you, you little rat', and started towards him. As he bent to grab the boy, it was the easiest thing in the world to hit him very hard over the head, for all the world as if I were playing cricket with my cousins as a child. He crumpled to the ground, and I administered a little chloroform to him also. I was a little alarmed when a gun clattered from his hand, as he could so easily have used it. However, there is no point dwelling over these things, so I picked it up, thinking it could come in very useful. I then heard a frightening racket, which must have been you all subduing Mrs Raddison, so I stole towards it. And, as you know, I entered the room cautiously, to find five pairs of eyes staring at me with quite comical expressions of astonishment, and then noticed your wound. Which I believe brings my narrative level with current events. Perhaps now, Mr Holmes, you would reveal the final twist in the tale?"

And with this, my remarkable Violet settled herself back in her chair, her arms folded neatly in her lap, the very picture of feminine propriety, undismayed as Watson and I stared at her, open-mouthed.

_Close your mouth, Sherlock, we are not a codfish._

_Well... I think I need to apologise again. Real life has interfered with my lovely fiction dalliances in a miserably pressing way, and I have not been near this site for weeks and weeks. I've missed it so much! I apologise for any long gaps in the future (hopefully not, but it's possible), but I don't intend to abandon any of my fics completely, not even the long un-updated Headmaster's Terrier and Irregular Irregular._

_I am still vain enough to check if I have had any reviews, even if I don't have time for reading or writing, so... hint, hint..._

_Thanks for those of you who stick with me! _


	56. Chapter 56: The counter agent

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 56: The counter agent**

I managed to recover my composure after this astonishing tale, although a shudder at the risks Violet had taken still crept up and down my spine.

"Your courage and resourcefulness continue to be quite remarkable. I am profoundly glad you came to no harm. Had our burly friend with the gun returned to the fray, the outcome for Watson and myself may have been somewhat different. Thank you, thank you very much."

Watson agreed my sentiments, and Violet inclined her head graciously in acknowledgement, then beamed innocently at me.

"I must not allow your congenial thanks to distract me from my purpose, Mr Holmes! If you feel yourself to be in my debt, perhaps you may like to settle the balance by breaking one of your usual rules. I am sure Dr Watson and myself would very much like to hear your theories, with or without the raw data, to support your earlier statement that Raddison's extensive documentation was not down to vanity."

Watson smirked appreciatively into his burgeoning moustache at this, and now seconded Violet. I laughed at the two of them, arrayed against me, their eyes fixed upon mine, rather like two precocious children requesting a fairy-story.

"I see I am being coerced by two most formidable antagonists. Very well, I shall bend my usual rule. It can do little harm to the case as it stands; little harm to anything but my pride should my theories be unsubstantiated."

I reached for my pipe, but Watson glowered ferociously at me, and I suppose strong tobacco smoke and a recent stab wound to the lung were not ideal bedfellows. I contented myself with a mere cup of Darjeeling tea, delivered with the practised stealth of an excellent hostess by Mrs Hudson during Violet's narrative. Settling back with a sigh, and inhaling the fragrant vapours, I outlined my surmise.

"It did strike me as odd that the documentation I discovered should be quite so explicit in detailing illegalities. I have mentioned previously that although criminals may enjoy dwelling on their successes, taking trophies, even recording intricate diaries of their iniquities, most of the more businesslike would take refuge in vagaries.

"In the type of criminal literature where the perpetrator gloats over his perceived triumphs, the tone is usually triumphalist, the author revelling in self-aggrandisement. I do not say this is always the case; but often it is so. Details of the crime will be savoured, and the role of the criminal is that of the dark hero of the piece. Such works tend to be diaries, scrap books, albums – in other words, personal possessions where the criminal immortalises his soul onto paper.

"There is then the organised and efficient criminal, who presides over his enterprise as he would a business. Facts and figures are meticulously recorded, lest forgetfulness cause him later to make a slip. This usually suggests an orderly mind. However, such people are usually sufficiently cautious to omit any overt reference to the more dangerous crimes, where euphemism and innuendo would typically be employed. For instance, the murder of a victim threatening their security would be termed 'threat neutralised at sea' or 'credit settled by Misters X and Y'. It would require a large accumulation of such circumstantial evidence to convince a jury of involvement in the crime beyond reasonable doubt.

"It is unusual for the characteristics of the one type of criminal documentation to spill over into the other. Certainly not unheard of – you will remember the disturbing business with Crouch and the spiders as an obvious exception, Watson – but sufficiently odd to merit further inquiry. Raddison's papers were just such an exception. Factual and succinct in their tone, but often describing the crime that had been committed in such fastidious detail that it would be sure to convict him were the papers ever discovered – or so you would think at first glance.

"It was a minor point, but there was a loop-hole left, which, although it would not save him from criminal charges, might just save his neck. The peremptory style of the text meant he used few pronouns. As in 'Veronica Bellingham was drowned' rather than 'I drowned Veronica Bellingham.' I doubt it would be the strongest defence, but at times it would have been easier to have used the personal pronoun and he avoided it. The thing was deliberate then. Did he merely do it in denial, as his conscience pricked at him, to psychologically distance himself from the crime? Or was it an act of defence, should the papers come to light, so that he could claim to be merely an accessory and not the primary perpetrator? If the latter, why not retreat further into ambiguity?"

I could see Watson and Violet mulling over my words, searching for alternative explanations. Watson spoke slowly;

"You said that you felt it would be wrong to ascribe his motives to vanity, and I imagine you would include hiding from his conscience in that category. So you do not believe it was that. You remarked Mrs Raddison seemed a greater villain that he. Do you believe these facts to be connected?"

I smiled at him. "I believe you have hit on it, Watson. Mrs Raddison has shown herself to be both ruthlessly cunning and psychopathic. Raddison's missives often contained shades of regret at the acts of violence he was a party to. Mrs Raddison in all probability relished them. She had no need to hurt myself or Watson, but she appears to have derived pleasure from both.

"I look forward to Raddison being well enough to give us further details, but I believe Mrs Raddison had some hold over him enough to compel him to write those case notes. She would revel in the details, whilst never being named, except as her alter-ego, James Castling. I wonder how many of the household servants even knew of that deception? Robinson, her brother, certainly, and we know she held power over him. The others were to all appearances dull fellows, thugs who obeyed their dubious instructions and kept quiet. The further beauty of the scheme was that she need have no fear of any of the employees threatening exposure of the schemes, whether they knew her identity or not, as any involvement they had would have thoroughly implicated them."

"So Mrs Raddison compelled her husband to write notes that would divert blame away from herself, squarely onto the people he named?" asked Violet, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Precisely. I believe his refusal to name himself may have been a small act of defiance, as much as he could manage without drawing her attention to it."

"What a dreadful household. Everyone in it probably standing ready to betray everybody else, except their tongues were stilled by threat and counter-threat."

"Indeed. Hedged all about by assassins, of which every one of them could count him or herself. There is poetic justice in it; 'Only trust thyself, and another shall not betray thee', as Penn observed; how salient the observation appears when it is turned on its head."

"Well, if I am to trust myself, I have been telling myself for some time past that I am battered and exhausted and in need of rest", replied Watson, with a tired smile to us both. "I hope you may deign to listen to me, Holmes, and follow my example. It was most restoring to hear the probable solution to the problem, but I advise leaving your obtaining of further data until you have had a little time to repair."

Violet, predictably, seconded his opinion and took her leave of us. If truth be told, I was in no case to dispute Watson's prescription, and it was with some relief that I succumbed to repose upon the sofa.

By the next morning, when I received a wire from Lestrade to let us know Raddison was in London, and fit to be interviewed, I felt more myself, and was able to gingerly move around, provided I took care not to jar my wound. Watson, on the other hand, still looked most unwell. In a disconcerting case of role reversal, he insisted on accompanying me to meet Raddison, despite my concerned attempts to dissuade him. We made a sorry pair, each propping each other up like the beginning of a house of cards, but I am sure we have seldom confronted a villain with such enthusiasm.

As Watson and I helped each other stiffly from the cab, Lestrade appeared to meet us. His eyes were sparkling with zest despite the deep shadows underneath them.

"Good to see you both up and about, although, poor fellows, you're moving like old maidens." He spoke kindly enough, and offered his hip flask in bluff, but thankfully not cloying, sympathy. We each took a thankful pull of the fiery spirit. For all his faults, Lestrade knows how to pick an excellent liquor.

"Well, I have an even better pick-me-up!" he declared, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Singing like birds, every one of them. No loyalty there, only fear for their own necks, and, once they were threatened, they're all clamouring to save each other. One of our best ever bags, gentlemen! Rape and assault is the least of it for all of them. They can all expect upwards of five years, ten for the most part. As for our fat doctor, he should by all accounts swing, but just between us, I don't know that he'll live that long."

He led us to the sick bay, and Raddison, propped up upon the pillows, turned towards us. He looked ghastly. His skin had that grey, waxy quality that spoke of a diseased circulation, and seemed to hang slackly from him. Perhaps it was the absence of his usual urbane expression of complacency to tug upon his facial muscles and fill him out, but he looked like a man who has suddenly lost a lot of weight over a very short time.

Lestrade announced our arrival as "Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson."

Raddison turned listlessly towards us, then started as he recognised first me, then my companion.

"So it is to you that I owe discovery and disgrace. I suppose it had to come some day. I just put the thought away from me." He paused in thought. "It is strange" he resumed, his watery eyes fixed on a point in the distance, "to what extent discovery can bring about a change in perspective. A return to reality, as it were. I believe I have retreated from reality for some time now, the unfortunate ends met by certain of my clients feeling no more real than the events in a penny novel."

I was unimpressed. "The lies you told to the couples who came to you looking for help were real enough. The rapes were real enough."

The flaccid face took on a pleading aspect. "I am aware of it. At first, I wished only to be of eventual service, and make a little money from the enterprise. But the situation grew out of my control."

"Nothing was out of your control", I said, sternly. "You had the opportunity to stop at any time, with a little resolution.

The wretch shook his head. "She always had a crime to threaten me with that would have ruined me, and, as the crimes committed grew, so did her confidence." He sniffed. "At first, it was just the ambition of our dupes that grew. It was she who conceived the photography chamber. At first, she told me nothing of it. She knew I would refuse, that I would declare the risk too great." I noted his scruples were not of the moral persuasion. He continued, dully, his confession seeming more inertia than resolution.

"You will doubtless have already deduced my first shameful secret; my unfortunate persuasion."

"Your attraction to members of your own sex, you mean", I stated, and although it was mere surmise on my part, he took it as confirmation of my definite knowledge. He bowed his head in his hands. That he should appear so ashamed of what I viewed as a harmless matter of personal preference, when he had so much weightier matters on his conscience, disgusted me further. The risks of such behaviour, on the other hand, were considerable. Section 61 of the Offences Against the Person Act was one of the more reprehensible pieces of our country's legislation, threatening any man who breached it with upwards of ten years penal servitude.

"She knew, of course", he whispered. "I tried to live like a normal man, but she smelt me out. I think she must have intended to use George from the very beginning. I did not know he was her brother at first, you know. She sent for him, and they took care to ensure he had ample opportunities to tempt and entrap me. They pooled their knowledge to gain an understanding of my likes and dislikes, of my foibles and passions. I became obsessed with him, infatuated like a schoolboy. He in turn believed his role to be to prepare me for future liaisons that his sister could use against me. I believe he did not know about the cameras – he is far too canny to place himself in a false position knowingly." His face twisted, and his voice dripped with bitterness at this, but, as he spoke further, his eyes took on that wistful, faraway quality of one recalling the happiest days of his life again. "When I began to believe my feelings were reciprocated, I felt myself to be the luckiest man in the world. I walked blindly into her trap. I was so enraptured, I do not think I would have noticed if a herd of rhinocerid had trampled through the room, the day she obtained those thrice damned photographs.

"She presented me with them at the breakfast table, as calm as can be." His eyes now filled with horror afresh at the memory. "I leapt to my feet, to attempt to seize them from her and destroy them, but she held them at arms' length, and laughed at me, telling me that there were copies. I hoarsely asked her what she wished of me, and she outlined the first of her diabolical schemes.

"She was careful to start at a low enough level of villainy to keep me from shying away. The first criminal enterprise was for me to find a suitable client desperate enough to use another man to father children upon her. The lady must be willing, she stipulated. She would then be photographed, and money could be extorted from her in return for silence. Not more money than the lady could afford, and, if I chose correctly, who would be much the worse for it? The lady would have her baby, the husband an apparent heir. Young men with enough physical resemblance to the husbands could be chosen, to reduce the likelihood of anybody doubting the child's parentage. I jibbed a little, but she was resolute. If I refused, she would send my photographs and my direction to Scotland Yard. The thought filled me with terror. The spectre of upwards of ten years in gaol loomed over me – do you know what they do to men like me in gaol? I allowed myself to be persuaded.

"Each time we practiced such a deception, my beloved wife would order me to make a detailed record of the case, as was my usual practice. She would then scrutinise it, and it would be filed with my other items. To taunt me further and command my obedience, she left a note within the filing cabinet that mocked me whenever I flicked through it; '_R.e. photographs of E.R. and G.R. Just to remind you: there are copies'_. I was writing the case for my own prosecution. Later, it seemed, she was forcing me to dig my own grave.

"The next level of cunning was arranging the seduction of those men whom I suspected shared my own unnatural predilection. I almost refused at this point – would that I had! I was still raw and nursing a broken heart thanks to George's behaviour. To put another fellow through the wringer as I myself was wrung seemed a terrible betrayal, not to mention my overweening jealously that another man should possess George. However, my fear overcame my conscience and I acquiesced. I think, at this point, this betrayal of my own kind snapped the remnants of my conscience within me. When she next suggested the 'sensory deprivation' trick, my guilt was dull and muted, and I agreed with little demur.

"From then on, it was like a vortex, an ever-ascending spiral. I documented each of my villainies, with never a mention of the real power behind the scenes."

"Although you were careful to avoid confessing you had been anything other than an accessory. No pronouns." I interrupted, and he looked at me without surprise.

"You noticed then? She didn't; the only reason I had to thank my stars. Yes, we played this dreadful game against one another for some time. The first time we followed through on a threat, my conscience almost awoke again, but by then, I was hopelessly ensnared." He fell silent briefly in brooding contemplation, then abruptly snapped back to life and his tale.

"It was around this time, by which our schemes had been running for over a year, that a worse disaster struck. Hecate's fame had begun to spread, both by the genuine satisfaction which seemed my only consolation in those days, and by our coercion of some of our clients to recommend us. Deception was suspected in certain circles, and we had to become ruthless in our security. I have always taken pride in my fierce hunting hounds; it seemed a small step to further enhance their ferocity. We built the high walls, and encouraged fear amongst the villagers, that they would not come prying about. I suppose we were gaining a measure of notoriety. Whatever the reason, a young investigative journalist came poking about at night - "

"- a Mr Hector Ascott", I interrupted, and he looked at me in astonishment. I shrugged. "He is one of a shortlist of candidates on the missing persons list from roughly the time my informants in the village whispered a man had been fed to the dogs. He was the only journalist on the list. Your men must have blabbed, Raddison."

Raddison shook his head. "You have been most thorough", he purred, and for a moment, I saw afresh that glint of urbane menace. "You are correct. Horribly correct. The men are animals, for the most part; it would be just like then to drop boastful hints of their involvement in this sad business. Ascott must have scaled the wall, and been snooping around the grounds when the dogs flew at him. Foolish fellow! He evidently set no store by their savagery, to his cost. Hearing the commotion and screams, we ran out of doors, and I called the beasts off. However, it was evidently too late for him. I did not need my medical knowledge to see he was a dead man; his jugular had been severed. I was bending over him in shock, my lantern in my hand, the men all around carrying lanterns too. In my defence, I tried to save him, to staunch the tide of blood – so very much of it! Pointless of course.

"I did not even take in the flashes of light at the time; I must have assumed it was the lanterns. My wife was in the role of James Castling that night, a role only George knew her to maintain. She ordered us away, and told us she would take care of the body.

"I barely slept for imagining the investigation to follow; the possibility of the house being searched, and all my past indiscretions coming to light. I blurted to her over breakfast the next morning that we should destroy the incriminating papers for safety's sake, but she laughed and showed me more photographs. Imagine my horror when I saw myself bending over the clearly identifiable corpse of the missing man – she had slipped off to fetch her damned cameras and photographed every person on the scene. I then saw that her plan was to not report the death, despite it being likely written off as misadventure following Ascott's trespass, but to give the death a yet more sinister appearance. Two of the pictures almost made me bring up my breakfast and faint upon the floor. They were of the dismembered remains of Ascott, being consumed by the dogs. Now I was implicated in a capital matter, and was more my wife's prisoner than ever."

"The crimes continued to escalate. When young Sotherby attempted to extort money out of us in return instead of reporting us, it seemed not so great a crime to punish him – my wife assures me it was the easiest thing in the world to penetrate the shooting party he attended and dispatch him. After the first time, turning a blind eye seemed easier yet. My part was to record the story afterwards." He now turned to us, imploringly. "I attempted to guide her along less pernicious roads. I began to devise schemes which would be profitable without the risk of homicide or blackmail. The pseudo-pregancies was, I confess, my own idea. I reasoned with myself, who lost out? A destitute child would go to a good home. The parents would be thrilled with their good fortune. I merely had to ensure there was no possibility of real pregnancy on top of the fake. That was easy enough. All the adoption schemes came from me. I was reluctant to resort to threatening the parents in these cases, as I considered it too likely they would find the courage to strike back, and I had not the stomach for the reprisals."

"Yet reprisals there were", I declared, coldly. "Drowning, electrocution, poisoning. A most impressive display of cold-blooded expertise in the art of homicide. Wherever did you learn it all?"

"It was my wife!" wailed the wretch, and for a moment I was irresistibly reminded of Mr Bumble from the pages of _Oliver Twist_. "She took to the enterprise with voracity. She pored over volumes on toxicology, weaponry, technology. She was of the opinion that if each crime were sufficiently diverse, they would not be linked. I believe she began to see it as a challenge; an amusing diversion from the banality of existence. She always liked violence. She carried a vicious whip with her when posing as Castling, to discipline the servants. She is a terrifying woman. I began to have the recurrent nightmare that she would find my usefulness outlived and murder me in my sleep."

"So, out of fear for your own skin, you allowed her to continue unchecked, whilst applying your own brand of misery to the unfortunates you encountered." I spoke savagely, disgusted by his worm-like evasion of responsibility. "And do not side-step your significant role in all this. I have spoken with certain of your "clients", and I am aware that, even if your wife inserted the screw, you turned it.

"I do not deny my involvement. I never expected things to get so out of hand though, and, as I said, it seemed so unreal. It has mostly been in my dreams I have been haunted. I am glad it is over", he said, portentously, sounding almost self righteous, as if congratulating himself for his magnanimity in not resenting our foiling of his scheme.

I glowered at him. "Oh, I doubt it is that. Your lovely wife is unlikely to go to her fate quietly. I would imagine she will take a vindictive pleasure in naming and shaming as many of her victims as she is able. Even without proof, she can cause damage, and I suspect she will gleefully reveal the location of the photographs to the police before I have time to find them myself. The misery you have invoked will continue. Take note of that, and remember that each subsequent tragedy that occurs will be notched up against you."

"But I know where they are!" declared he, clutching at the offered opportunity to gain a shred of redemption from us. "At least, I believe I do. I wanted very much to find those photographs, and place myself on a more level footing. She employed helpers in London. Two can play at that. I had her followed. Locker number 3812 at Kings Cross. Sadly, I knew not where she kept the key. Believe me, I deliberated with the idea of forcing the lock, but she had chosen the location well, within the busiest part of the station, where any such illegal activity must immediately be spotted – imagine if I had been caught robbing it – the photographs that would so compromise me were in there! But I do not mind that now. I will do anything I can to make amends, and shall mention nothing of those who may be damaged by my speaking. My wife will be a lone voice, a murderess's ravings." His fat but newly depleted face took on an ingratiating expression, and his voice rang after me in a whine as I left the room.

"I do hope my cooperation in this matter will be counted in my favour?"

_Ugh! Raddison might only be my secondary villain, but I do find him loathsome! What is to be done with his horrible wife? All will become clear in Chapter 57, which, incidentally, is nearing completion also._

_Well, slow and steady progress. Please read and review, to speed my pen!_

_Thanks_


	57. Chapter 57: No honour amongst thieves

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 57: No honour amongst thieves**

For my next encounter, I left Watson at home. He had been distressed by the flaw in my scheme to protect the Raddisons' victims. I had reassured him that I saw several ways around it, and wished him to continue to believe this. I was not certain how many more blows fate could deal him before the strain became excessive, and, should the interview not go well, I did not wish him to see it.

When I had suspected Dr Raddison as the ringmaster in this dark circus, I had had high hopes of his evident love of creature comforts, and my suspicion he possessed that cowardice which so often lay underpinned the bullying sneak. I had suspected he would be malleable, and would make certain concessions in his confinement, in exchange for additional comforts. I further suspected his conceit, and his genuine unrivalled expertise in the field of reproductive biology would have lead him to attempt to preserve his posthumous reputation by claiming most of his successes were genuine. Mrs Raddison seemed a different matter. One look at the burning ferocity of the hatred in her eyes, and the likelihood that she would go quietly to her fate seemed small.

Another distinct improbability was that the trial at which her foul mouth could do so much damage would not attract significant notice. The news of the sensational arrest was already blazoned across the London morning papers, the details and methods of certain of the murders expurgated upon with ghoulish relish, the main perpetrator being a woman who liked to masquerade as a man adding salacious relish.

The public galleries, when the time came, would be full as they could hold to hear her shout, with nothing to lose, her damning accusations from the witness box. It would be far, far worse if there was evidence to support her claims, but still the whispers would emerge, in a poisonous trickle, to cause damage and heartache. It was the children adopted into gracious homes that I most pitied, and I feared that would be her first choice of scandal to spread. I also thought with a pang of poor Emily Rangaford. I hoped the prospect of her tormentor speaking in court would not cause her courage to fail.

I decided my course of action with distaste and reluctance. I would have to ask Mycroft's aid in ensuring a man of sense would preside over the court. Such machinations were non constitutional, and as such, I would usually strongly disapprove of them, but pragmatism had the upper hand here. The judge should be briefed to quickly call the defendant in contempt of court and have her removed, should she begin calling out accusations not pertinent to her case. I also did not consider myself above a counter-slander campaign.

Anonymous details slipped to Langdale Pike and his ilk would ensure the gossip columns were full of lurid details of how the murderess had lost her mind in contemplation of her nefarious deeds, and had invented other crimes to further aggrandise herself. I was not above playing dirty if the circumstances merited it. First, I must visit my victim, and gauge my need. If the need arose, I could play very dirty indeed.

Mrs Raddison sat on the plain chair in her featureless cell. The room was a depressing prospect, the one small, high window in the thick walls thinly illuminating the meagre furniture, all dovetailed joints so as not to allow a prisoner the opportunity to acquire a nail as the means of harming themselves and cheating justice. The woman was dressed in plain, scratchy prison garb. Despite her surroundings and dress, she faced me with a leonine grin and a smug demeanour, radiating from within with the easy confidence of the nearly-mad.

"Well, Mr Sherlock Holmes?"

"Your photographs from locker number 3812 are destroyed."

I had chosen my opening sally well. Her face darkened with rage and chagrin, and I knew her next words would be impulsively unguarded.

"You snake! I shall show you what good it may do you! You may have the photographs, but I still know all that went on, and I still have a tongue in my head! I don't know who your clients are, but you had best tell them not to relax yet. I shall look forward to my day in court."

I was not surprised to hear my misgivings confirmed. I probed a little deeper into her intentions.

"You would be advised to behave with more circumspection. Do you wish your time here to be uncomfortable and undignified?"

"What would it matter to me if the end result is likely to be the noose? I would wish to make my life count. Oh, people would remember me alright!"

"Scandals only last until they are eclipsed by the next. They will assume you are raving."

"Doesn't really matter, does it? Not once the words are out there. Of course, if I were to be acquitted of murder, it would be a different case. There would be more to play for." She turned to me with the attitude of a spider contemplating its lunch. "_You_ have influence, I believe. Of course, I am not suggesting you actively lie, but you could keep back some details. With your assistance, my being acquitted could become a certainty as opposed to a mere probability."

"Allow me to assure you, your optimism is misplaced. I can conceive of few less likely contingencies than my helping you escape justice. I might argue your sentence should be commuted to life imprisonment in Broadmoor, as your behaviour could be interpreted as insanity, and I can suggest your circumstances are as comfortable as is possible in such an institution, but I can do no more. I would feel most disinclined to do either, left to myself. I consider you are fully awake to your own actions."

"Perhaps you do not have sufficient motive to help me. I can help you with that. Whilst your nasty little boys were pinning me to floor, I thought it best to be unconscious. But I still heard your lovely 'wife' come in. I'm surprised she agreed to pose as Jane Johnson – Violet Hunter is a far prettier name. _Miss_ Hunter as well. And you only have to look at her to see she's the respectable type. I wonder what would happen to her if it got out what she gets up to with you."

I contrived to keep my face stony. I do not believe she saw a trace of the dismay that twisted my gut. In Violet's precarious case, caring for the gently nurtured female offspring of the upper-middle classes, rumour would be enough to ruin her.

"You do not have your husband's delicacy of touch. A clumsy threat."

"But a serious one. I cannot imagine it would be good for either of your reputations. And I daresay I could make your clients rather angry with you as well. They will not be so pleased for their inner secrets to be spilled in the dock for all the hacks and gossips in the public gallery to hear. I can just repeat the tales my husband has told me. I do not need to have been aware of the truth of them at the time – I could say I presumed he was joking, and that I never believed any of it to be true. Poor, deceived me. And poor, embarrassed upper crust. Whether there's proof or not, they'll not be so pleased with you for causing this situation."

"You are deceiving yourself now. How on earth do you suppose anybody in that courtroom could believe you to be an innocent victim? If your husband had not written of your involvement in several murder cases, your kidnapping and mistreatment of Dr Watson would hardly advertise you as a helpless female."

She smiled again, and began to speak, in breathy, sugary tearful tones, as if addressing a courtroom.

"You abducted me and were threatening me, believing that I knew where the missing photographs were. Dr Watson initially acquired his injuries when he illegally broke into our house, at the hands of my illegitimate brother James Castling, our groom, who has subsequently disappeared. He mistook me for his attacker, consequently he was willing to bend the truth to revenge himself upon me, and to get to the truth of the murders. Certain of his wounds were reopened when I struggled against his constraint." She dropped the helpless act and slipped back into her predatory mein. "I believe you have been known to operate outside of the law before. Such a shame if the story went around that you were willing to use force and terrorise a helpless female into supporting your version of events."

This nonsense worried me far less than the idea of her spreading salacious rumours. It might even be helpful to encourage it, as it would destroy her credence. I feigned imperfectly concealed anxiety.

"You are being ridiculous. Watson is a prosecution's dream witness, I'm afraid. Stolid, unshakably respectable, and clearly unimaginative. His version of events, and his recognition of you as Castling, will be unequivocal."

"He recognised me as James Castling? A man he had had the barest acquaintance with? And that from a dark night? Whilst disguised? Really, Mr Holmes, I would anticipate a good defence counsel would have something to say about that."

"Dr Watson's is not the only word they will have to go on. They will have my word."

"Oh, yes. The word of a man who shares a bed with a respectable and unmarried young female for three nights, one of them alone and in their underclothes."

"I wonder how you know that? I doubt anybody would wish to pass the time of day with you in here, and you had already left the house when we returned." I looked hard at her. And then I saw it.

I felt a sudden rush of dark relief and satisfaction.

"Ah, yes, I see the paper cut upon your right index finger. Quite fresh, and exactly where it would occur when slitting open an envelope. Who is your correspondent? You really are not meant to be receiving post, you know."

She smirked at me in a self-satisfied fashion. "Oh, it is amazing how soft hearted people can be when faced with a lady in a plight. Especially if the lady is generous."

"I doubt they would have been so soft hearted, if there had been the opportunity to present the evidence." I got up to leave, and eyed me, vague alarm in her countenance. She had noticed my change in tense.

"What do you mean, _would have_? Am I to be released?"

"In a manner of speaking. I would spend your time making what amends you can if I were you."

"What are you talking about?"

" '_There is no honour amongst thieves'_, as the proverb says. Even less amongst blackmailers and murderers. I have said from the first your downfall has been carelessness and overconfidence. You should not have assumed that because you had obtained your gang's fealty through fear, they would display true loyalty and not seek to overthrow you if the opportunity arose. '_Set a thief to catch a thief_' is another proverb. I may be mistaken, perhaps '_if you wrong us, shall we not revenge_' is better suited. Or '_hoist by your own petard_'. Trite, but pertinent. I will remove myself now, as I would imagine you grow nauseous."

She was on her feet now, her face pale and her eyes wide, wordlessly confirming my supposition.

"_What are you talking about?_" she repeated, in a near scream.

I rapped hard three times upon the door, and it was opened. I put my head back around the door as I left.

"I would get that finger looked at, if I were you. Amazing how often such things can turn nasty."

I smiled, grimly, as I walked away from the cell. I heard the scream of realisation as I rounded the corner.

_...+++***+++..._...+++***+++..._

_ Have you guessed?_

_ Chapter 58 will follow soon on the heels of this one – I'm racing ahead now – I hope!_

_ Thanks for your ongoing reviews._


	58. Chapter 58: The price of ten shillings

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 58: The price of ten shillings**

As I could have predicted, Lestrade came to see me at breakfast time the next morning. The small frown of frustration he wore when out of his depth (often) was etched between his eyebrows.

"Ah, Lestrade. An unseasonably chilly morning. Dank. It is causing my roommate, the human barometer, some little discomfort. Will you not sit down and take some of this excellent ham and coffee?"

"There has been an incident, Mr Holmes," blurted the Yarder, his face suffused with colour.

"Mrs Raddison is dead." I pronounced calmly, swallowing a mouthful of coffee, a task Dr Watson suddenly proved himself singularly unequal to by choking upon his own. By the time we had finished commiserating with him (his difficulties compounded by Lestrade having so far forgotten himself as to bang him upon the back), the announcement itself had been robbed of much of its drama, and it was almost an anticlimax when the police inspector confirmed my deduction.

"But how on earth did you know, Mr Holmes? She only passed on in the small hours."

The almost reverential tone in which this question was couched had a rehearsed quality to it. Lestrade may be woefully unimaginative, but he is by no means stupid. The little game we play of the practised astonishment is not openly acknowledged, but accepted.

"Surely you suspected I would know. I visited her last night, and when I left, she was exhibiting significant signs of distress, a fact I am sure the guards will have informed you of."

Watson exclaimed in bewilderment at this, his voice still croaky. "Holmes? What is this? You said nothing to me about your visit; gave no intimation it was remarkable by anything other than the vileness of the woman concerned." He broke off abruptly, and his efforts to conceal his dawning nervousness that I may be compromised in some way were immediately obvious.

"The guards have told me that she began exhibiting symptoms after you left..." Lestrade was keeping his tone deliberately flat and expressionless.

"Yes. And a little before, I believe. I would suggest looking for aconite at the post mortem."

"Mr Holmes..." Lestrade's voice held a note of warning now, but I laughed.

"Oh, don't worry old fellow. I didn't kill her. I believe she has been a victim of her own nefarious methods. I merely noticed, and drew her attention to, the paper cut on her finger. That peculiar yellowish tinge is quite characteristic."

"Well, for Heaven's sake, man, why didn't you say something before?" exploded Lestrade, his colour now alarmingly high.

"There would have been nothing that could have been done for her." Watson saved me the trouble of answering. Lestrade sighed, and I could tell he still wished to tell me, in no uncertain terms, how remiss of me it was to have given the prison or police no prior warning one of their prisoners was about to expire of unnatural causes. However, he evidently also wished my assistance, and I watched the two conflicting desires warring upon his countenance, holding back my own amusement, and reaching for my cherry-wood pipe.

"Alright, Mr Holmes. I don't say that I'm not aggrieved you did not mention the circumstance – we could have interviewed her at least. However, I hope you are able to shed a little light upon the mystery of who did it?"

"No, I am afraid not, Lestrade. Not before, and not now, will I investigate the death of one with the philosophical ten shillings clamped between their teeth. I have my suspicions, but the potential pool of perpetrators is rather large."

"Come now, Holmes! This is still murder we are talking of!" The little Yarder was becoming angry. I allowed him to cool off for a moment as I lit my pipe in a leisurely fashion, before responding.

"I believe it may just be possible that I may again have more sympathy with the murderer than the corpse in this case. I am not certain of that fact, but the possibility stays my hand."

Lestrade still looked most put out, so I attempted to cheer him by reminding him of the rest of his prisoners, all of whom seemed likely to face a long term behind bars. The tactic worked, and he left in a better mood than he had arrived.

Watson gave up disapprovingly staring at my pipe, and began to question me after Lestrade had left.

"Who do you think sent that envelope, Holmes?"

"Hm? Oh, I suppose top of the list has to be George Robinson. Perhaps he rates his chances of survival higher without her dragging him down, perhaps revenge was a motivator. Certainly he or any of the minions could have taken advantage of the network the Raddisons have evidently built up in the village to obtain the contents of a secret drawer in the house or some such."

"But you are not certain?"

"Oh, not at all certain, my dear fellow. As I have said, any of the gang could have had a reason to silence its leader. Perhaps one of them has been more involved with the murders than the others, and did not wish this fact to emerge."

"In that case, why not discover who sent it? I can hardly believe you have much sympathy for any of that lot."

"Certainly not. If I was sure that it was one of the gang, it would be quite a pleasurable little puzzle. However, have you not seen the reports of the case in the papers?"

"My head has not really been equal to reading," he confessed reluctantly. "I have been saving the reports for when the Catherine wheel behind my eyeballs has settled down."

I have had concussion myself sufficient times to heartily sympathise with my poor friend, especially as he must have been itching to know the details. "I can save you a good deal of empty-headed and sensationalist drivel then, and summarise their gist now. They crow triumphantly about the resounding successes of our police force, and they dwell in salacious glee upon the shocking nature of the crimes. Somebody in this case has evidently allowed their tongue to wag, as a report of the methods of the murders were drooled over in ghoulish detail. Including the aconite under the envelope trick."

"Good Lord! How irresponsible. So it could have been any one of the Raddison's victims, then!"

"Precisely. I take it you are agreed with my policy of silence?"

"Entirely, Holmes."

ooo+++ooo

_ Ooo, I must be a bad person. I did enjoy killing off Mrs Raddison. A deserving end._

_ Chapter 59 will be up tomorrow or Friday, if anyone is interested. Please do read and review!_


	59. Chapter 59: Burnt letters & blank slates

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 59: Burnt letters and blank slates**

It soon became clear that any remaining fight had gone out of Dr Raddison. I might even say he was displaying genuine contrition. His shrunken frame appeared further diminished on each encounter.

He greeted the news of his wife's death with ill-concealed relief. My estimation of him rose infinitesimally, as he seemed most thankful about the fact that she would be unable to drag the names of his victims through the mud. It was as if his soul had sickened of human misery, and could tolerate no more. His promises that he would ruin no further reputations had the authenticity of the death-bed confession.

Indeed, it was becoming clear that the man might not even make it to the Assizes. He was moved to the prison infirmary, and watched night and day.

I was sufficiently reassured by his tractability to feel able to place a carefully worded advertisement in all the London papers, stating that any who had been wronged by the Raddisons should address their correspondence to me for reassurance. The process was to keep Watson and myself busy for several days, arranging discreet meetings with the duped, the injured and the downtrodden, and discouraging the blundering subterfuge of newspapermen attempting to get the "inside story". Some of the stragglers took several weeks to work up enough courage to consult me.

Several of the victims were initially belligerent, until they realised I had no intention of extorting further money. Some were embarrassingly grateful. One overly thankful young woman attached her scented person like an octopus about my neck, weeping profusely, and was only extricated with effort. I allowed her to burn her own files in our grate whilst I removed myself to change my tear-and-lip-paint stained collar.

I made one decision on consultation with my own scruples. Where a baby had resulted that was, in all probability, not the product of one, or both, parents, I chose not to reveal it. The decision was not one that Watson and I directly discussed, but he wordlessly acquiesced. Perhaps in this I erred; there has been debate about inborn criminal tendencies, after all, that may or may not manifest themselves in the cuckoo progeny of some of the highest families in the land. However, I generally tend to regard most human infants as a blank slate for their parents and guardians to do with what they will. Whether my decision not to blight the prospects of any of these blank slates was correct will be a matter for posterity. I did not find the decision difficult to reconcile with my conscience.

ooo+++ooo

_ There will be a lot of relieved people about in London. But is there anybody still missing?_

_ Find out in Chapter 60... (which is largely done, and will be up over the next few days)... please do read and review..._


	60. Chapter 60: When you like

**The Adventure of Hecate House**

**Chapter 60: When you like and where you like**

There was one most gratifying episode in the aftermath to this case. It involved my visiting the Rosehip Heath Seminary with two visitors, and being greeted by its now fully restored headmistress with young Emily Rangaford in tow.

I had communicated mostly via telegram with Violet, to update her on the circumstances of the case, in considerably more detail than I would usually consider necessary to convey – anything less would unchivalrous. I had also asked her, following Mrs Raddison's death and Dr Raddison's compliance, to discover whether Emily would agree to be reunited with her husband, confessing her appalling experiences whilst plainly under no duress.

I suspect much of Violet's soft manner yet implacable good sense had had much to do with Emily's capitulation. I was relieved to hear of it, as the redoubtable Miss Meredith Rangaford had overcome even the remonstrances of Mrs Hudson, usually a better guardian of our privacy than Cerberus, in order to glean news of her sister-in-law following the shocking headlines in all the newspapers. Her rather vigorous ratiocination of her eagerness to seek out her sister-in-law provoked an unworthy and only partly assumed display of exhaustion and weakness on my part. Fortunately the lady was not devoid of sympathy, but I was rather more uneasy that her brother, realising my connection with the villainous Raddisons, would be my next over-exuberant guest. The telegram confirming Emily's resolution allowed a rather more civil exchange than I suspect would had come about had my client still desired concealment.

It was thus that both Miss Meredith Rangaford, and her overwrought brother, virtually tumbled from the cab to embrace Emily. I was thankful, in light of recent experiences, that I was spared the first emotional outpourings; they were reserved strictly for family members. I contented myself with beaming at Violet, and discreetly squeezing her hand when it was clear we were unobserved. Her own face was flushed with gratification at witnessing the reunification; Watson would have said it much became her.

Emily, desperately pale but with more dignity than I would have given her credit for, asked if she could speak with her husband alone. Violet allowed them to use her own study, whilst the remaining three of us retreated to tea in the parlour, and made polite, desultory conversation to conceal our anxiety about the outcome of the interview.

After some eighteen minutes, the parlour door opened, and Emily and George Rangaford stepped through. Emily was tearstained and almost wilting, leaning against her husband's sturdy form as if he were all that was keeping her upright. He in turn had his arm tightly around her waist, his encircling hand gripping her own. I felt a surge of relief. I should not have liked the outcome to be acrimonious for my young client.

Colonel Rangaford turned to me. He was a serious young man, with bristling side whiskers and the slightly pompous manner which often accompanies those who have risen fast through the military. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but roughened by strong emotion.

"Mr Holmes. I understand you are a man of great discretion?"

I bowed to him in acknowledgement.

"I am very grateful to hear it. As indeed, I am very grateful to you for the assistance you have rendered my foolish girl. I hope I may now be a better man than I appear to have given her reason to believe. Thank you for bringing her home." Despite his blustering manner, and a little residual stiffness which I would imagine was the natural consequence of discovering his wife has been concealed from him, his voice quavered at this, and tears, not the first he had shed that day it was plain, glistened in his eyes.

"It was a privilege to assist you in this matter, Colonel," I replied, formally.

The Colonel now turned to Violet.

"Miss Hunter, I am inexpressively grateful for your care towards my wife in this difficult time. I could wish that she had felt it possible to inform me of her difficulties, but I am glad she encountered such a principled soul upon her flight."

I wondered, madly, for a moment, how he would react if he could have seen Violet scrambling around the edge of a building, dressed in men's plus fours, setting about her with chloroform and a makeshift cosh whilst dressed as a scarlet woman – and of course, what had transpired on the islet out to sea. Violet merely delivered some kindly platitudes.

Colonel Rangaford now turned to me again, and held out in his hand a sheaf of paper. It was the damning contents of the Rangaford's file from Hecate House, which I had restored to Emily prior to her reunion with her husband.

"I would very much appreciate it if you would dispose of these vile pages on my behalf, Sir. I must now return my wife to her rightful home." Emily suddenly gave a little sob at these words, and, as if she had flicked a switch, an enormous smile suddenly split her husband's face, totally transforming it. "Particularly as she informs me she is in a delicate condition; a condition I understand must pre-date our experiences in that infamous house. Perhaps we have reason to feel gratitude to the villainous scoundrel's advice after all." He then realised that his excitement had carried him away and led him to reveal more than was seemly, and his expression assumed the colour of rare beef, and a sheepish quality.

This was news to myself and Miss Meredith Rangaford, whose face performed a brief gymnastics regime before settling on heartfelt delight. I read her thoughts immediately, and hoped sincerely that the couple were right about their timing. Violet's smile told me she had already been in Emily's confidence.

I concealed my misgivings, and offered my felicitations in as hearty a fashion as I could command. I accepted further profusions of gratitude from all three Rangafords, until I was compelled to manoeuvre them into departing by commenting on Emily's exhausted mien. I sighed with relief as Violet closed the front door behind them, and turned to me, grinning, and gesturing quietly with her head towards her private study.

I followed the headmistress through into the orderly little room, and was about to express my concerns about Emily's upcoming Interesting Event when she cut me off by pulling me into a bear-hug. I did not find it as objectionable as the last time I had had a female dangling around my neck, and returned the exuberant gesture. She released me, still grinning.

"Well done, Holmes! Well done indeed. I envy you the moments where you allay all your client's worries; I felt enough of a glow myself when I read your telegrams – thank you for that little courtesy, incidentally – I am indeed honoured - the satisfaction of delivering the good news face to face must be as immense as it is deserved."

I allowed myself a few moments of preening before replying.

"You must take a good deal of the credit yourself, you know. You were incomparable."

She laughed. "You are too kind. I followed, you led."

"Not when you rescued us from the warehouse."

She dismissed this, probably keen to lead my reflections away from her conduct on that instance. "You would have contrived an escape. Well, you are well revenged. I must be a very unchristian soul, as I felt no sorrow whatsoever when I heard of that woman's fate."

"She would have deserved none of your sympathy. Dr Raddison little more."

"I understand he will keep his mouth shut?"

"So I believe. This case really has concluded rather satisfactorily, although I feel I have not expressed adequate regret for some of the dangerous positions you were placed in. I take it you are recovered fully from your ordeal?" I betrayed myself a little, as I could hear the anxiety in my tone as I studied her.

"Not only fully recovered, but a little sorry it is over."

I laughed in some incredulity. "You cannot expect me to believe you would still rather be crouched in Hecate House with that ball of twine? Or subjected to poking from Raddison?"

"Perhaps not. But there were aspects of the case I would be pleased to repeat."

The air between us was suddenly thick with tension. A fanciful notion occurred to me that any words I spoke would be of such moment, they would appear solidly in the air between us, as if sketched there by a cartoonist. My throat was dry.

Violet broke the silence a moment later.

"I should like to recapture some of the air of adventure. I am sure Dr Watson will usually be your most suitable companion, but, on occasions where a female will best suffice, I hope you would consider asking me to help with you cases again in future."

Sherlock Holmes, the unemotional, the unflappable, tongue-tied and indecisive! That was the condition under which I laboured for the next few seconds, until I recalled my wandering wits, and reminded her of the danger she had found herself in.

"I really could not place you in such a position as to compromise your safety..."

I never finished that sentence. Violet found a delightful means of cutting me off. She drew back after a fairly chaste salute upon my lips, merely holding lightly onto one of my lapels, and spoke in a soft, reasonable voice, that nevertheless shook with conviction.

"I know you say such things out of consideration for me, but I beg you will not. I have never wanted a run-of-the-mill existence - I would, in many ways, rather have been born a man to avoid it. You would not have such fear for my safety if I were a man - you do not object to Dr Watson following you, despite the risk. Only imagine his feelings upon being included in your cases, then try transferring them to me, without making any alterations for my sex."

My face must have betrayed my difficulty with this concept, as she placed a finger across my lips, as if I were a child, and continued, her voice throbbing with intensity.

"I am aware that overcoming a lifetime of chivalrous instincts and your evident distrust of most of my sex cannot be a simple matter, so I do not ask you to admit me to your most perilous adventures – although I must beg _you_ to take care – I felt as if I had been stabbed myself when I saw you wounded -" – the hand on my lapel twitched convulsively, and my own breath hitched a moment - " -I merely ask that you occasionally help me to escape the stifling conventionality that would otherwise be unendurable. Let me help you, if the need arises. I know you have used women in this way before – I have spoken to Miss Nancy Harrison."

I was shocked at this piece of underhand subterfuge, and also wondered what else Nancy might have told her about our dealings, but Violet continued before I had time to express this.

"Will you let me take over her role? Please?"

This final appeal was radiant with sincerity. I smiled down at her, this complex creature where respectable headmistress and audacious adventurer jostled behind the freckled complexion.

"London has seemed singularly uninteresting of late. No criminals displaying even a fraction of the Raddison's ingenuity..."

Her face fell slightly. She obviously considered me to be kindly dismissing her.

"...However," I continued, "I have sources in several of the more exclusive London hotels, and they have been bringing me rumours for some time of a rather invidious gang currently fleecing wealthy young fellows at cards. I have been intending to deal with them when the opportunity arose, and no doubt offering myself as a suitable mark is the best way of catching them at their game. A vacuous and expensive young wife would certainly add authenticity to an appealing bait."

I watched as the disappointed expression was replaced by one of mischievous delight and expectation. I quieted my conscience. _Ah well_, I thought. _It is only logical to have reliable assistants._

"Will you be that vacuous and avaricious wife, my dear?"

"When you like and where you like, my dear Holmes."

..._The End..._

_Good God! I've actually finished Hecate House! I may go on and edit it a little, tone up some of the flabby bits, but otherwise, it's done!_

_(Although, I do intend an optional card-sharp chasing hotel chapter, which possibly may have elements rather like the missing islet out to sea chapter. I like to keep such elements separate from the main story, but let me know if you'd like to see it written...)_

_Thanks so much for all of you who read this story, particularly those of you kind enough to regularly review and stick with me when I disappeared for weeks at a time – your encouragement was a great incentive. _

_And as I do feel a bit bereft now Hecate is done, if anyone has any other ideas they would like to see written, I'd always be happy to try a collaboration with someone – or just ask for a fic! Otherwise, I think Watson has been a bit neglected of late, and needs his moment centre stage again. I have a vague outline for something involving Dutch Steamships in mind..._

_First I need to think about finishing off my other neglected fics!_


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